Most Precious Things
by haluan
Summary: Realizing he cannot recapture Fenris because of his powerful friends, Danarius devises a plan to kidnap Hawke and use her as bait. However, things do not go as planned when Hawke offers him an unexpected deal.
1. Chapter 1

.i.

"Hawke, I don't think I can do this," Fenris says. He stands, head bent in front of the fireplace in her study. She doesn't say anything for a few moments, but finally sighs, shoulders dipping a little.

"Fenris, nobody learns to write overnight."

"I've had a great many nights to practice," he grouses, casting an irritated glance over at Hawke's desk. A stack of rumpled parchment is spread across the gleaming mahogany surface, covered in illegible slashes. "It's too difficult."

"I managed it. If I can, you certainly can." He can hear the grin in her voice. "Put it aside for tonight, if you're that irritated, but don't give up." He grumbles, knowing she's right, but he doesn't really want to admit it.

"And," she rises from her chair, taking up the parchment, "I like your handwriting. It fits you."

"That isn't a compliment."

"Yes it is. It's strong and elegant. Just like you."

Suddenly the fireplace isn't the only thing warming his face. Strong and elegant. It still amazes him after all this time that she's sees beauty in him where he does not, where he thinks there is none to be found.

"Very well," he concedes, moving away from the fire and gathering his writing materials, laying them carefully in a drawer. She's still looking at the paper in her hands with a grin, tracing the curve of a 'U' with her thumb when she notices him watching her, and hands him the paper with an unapologetic smile.

When he is finished he returns to the fire, pressing his arm to the warm brick. At his feet, Hawke's hound Galahad twitches in his sleep.

"When I was young, I had a terrible time of learning new skills," she admits, marking her place in her books and setting it on the desk. Standing, she moves to the fire, stopping to pet Galahad as he sleeps. He sighs contentedly at her touch.

"I have a hard time believing that. It seems there is little you are not capable of."

She shakes her head, smiling. "Flatterer. It's true, though. I expected that I would be able to learn things instantly. Not because I was special, or anything, but because I felt that was what was required of me. Such is the burden of the oldest sibling, I suppose. If I couldn't do it right and do it well the first time, I felt like a failure. I would get so frustrated." She clenches her hands, frustration still palpable. "It often ended in tears. My own. Mother and Father were very patient with me." She smiles ruefully. It has taken her time to overcome the grief over the death of her mother, but over the years the sadness that used to fill her eyes when thinking of her lost family has seemed to all but disappear.

"You haven't changed much," he comments. It takes a beat, and a quizzical look from her to realize the words have not come out as he meant them to. "You still get frustrated at failure, even when it's not your own, or anything you could have prevented."

"I think you might know me too well, Fenris." She grins, looking surprised yet pleased about the fact. "Hopefully, it means I always do the best I can. ...I think."

"You do," he assures. He has never seen anyone so dedicated to doing the right thing, to helping everyone in need, than Hawke. Beautiful, bright eyed, kind hearted Hawke, who still tolerates -no- enjoys his company, despite the many times he has been less than completely kind to her.

"I'm glad you think so," she grins. When she smiles like that, he can't help but reciprocate it.

"Lady Hawke," Orana calls into the study, sticking her head into the door, "it's time for dinner." She spies Fenris, and dips her head in acknowledgment of his presence. "Should I set another place?"

"What do you say, Fenris? Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"I wouldn't want to trouble you-" he begins, but Orana is shaking her head.

"It's no trouble at all, Master Fenris."

He shifts uncomfortably at the title, and swears he hears Hawke laugh under her breath.

"No enchantment soup, I promise," she winks at him. He can't resist the gesture.

"Then I gladly accept your invitation."

Orana breaks into a controlled, but genuine smile and flits off.

"She really admires you, you know."

It's not very becoming, but he snorts as they make their way through the foyer to the dining room. "I can't image why she would."

"Who wouldn't? I think-" She bites down on her next word, rubbing her neck. "I think you're very admirable."

He doesn't snort at that.

"Ah! Messere Fenris!" Bodahn says invitingly as they enter the dining room. He nods in greeting.

"Glad to see you joining us! Our lovely Orana always makes so much food, we really need more people over to eat."

"I keep trying to lure them in, Bodahn. I'm doing the best I can."

"Enchantment!" Sandal exclaims, awed as ever by his appearance, eyes glimmering at the delicate tendrils of lyrium covering the expanse of his arms.

"Well it seems we're all here, shall we?" Hawke gestures to the table, filled with delicious looking fare. Everyone takes a seat. Hawke sits at the head, and he settles into the chair to her left. Joining hands, she prays over the food, thanking the Maker for his blessings, and they dig in, happily chatting. It's very comfortable. Everyone laughs politely at Bodahn's terrible jokes, except Hawke, who is laughing so hard in earnest that she has to turn away from the table to catch her breath and dry her tears. Orana bashfully speaks of happenings around town, and the friends she's made at the market where she goes to buy food. Sandal makes occasional editorial comments. The way Hawke treats them is uncommon. Certainly no other noble in the city would deign to dine with servants. Or a fugitive slave.

After dinner, after they have helped Orana clear the table she walks him to the door.

"Did you enjoy everything?"

"She is an excellent cook. And you are an excellent hostess." She rolls her eyes, biting her lips to hide her please smile. "'Hostess' implies that you are a guest."

"I'm not?"

"Of course not. You're, well, family."

He doesn't know how to respond to that. It has been a fair while since their one night tryst, and even now, he still feels himself undeserving of her acceptance, let alone her forgiveness in the face of his rejection. However, he likes the sound of 'family' very much.

She spares him the trouble of trying to come up with an answer. "Next time, we'll have to make your favorite dish."

"Do you even know what my favorite dish is?"

"Fruit salad."

He looks at her

"It's mostly grapes. All grapes. Fermented ones. It's wine."

She throws her head back in laughter, and after a moment, he can't help but join her.

"Hawke." He shakes his head, at a loss for words.

"I was close, wasn't I?" She shrugs, cheeks red with mirth.

"Close enough."

They look at each other for a while in silence. He takes her in, her dark hair gathered up into a knot at the nape of her neck, her long eyelashes fluttering against the freckles that dust cheeks. Her lips, perpetually turned up in a kind, slightly conspiratorial smile. She looks at him too, warm eyes traveling over his face. Sandal shouts something from another room and they both jump as if caught in the middle of doing something they ought not.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then?" Her hopeful expression almost makes him feel guilty.

"No. Not tomorrow. I've taken a job. I wont be back for a a few days."

He watches her try to keep the concern from her face, but she is far too easy to read.

"You're sure this is safe?"

He nods. "I've checked. All seems well." She doesn't look entirely convinced.

"Who is it? Tell me that, at the very least, so I know whose neck to break if you don't come back in one piece." He almost laughs at the image of this delicate woman savagely wringing the neck of some purple faced noble.

"Comte di Stasio. A decent enough man. And no connections to Tevinter or the slave trade, before you ask."

"Alright. Good. I'll still wring his neck if anything happens to you." This time, he doesn't bother to hold back his laughter, low and rumbling. "I'm serious! Don't laugh!" Her insistence just makes him laugh harder, and finally she cracks, joining in. Orana glides by the doorway, smiling softly at them.

"What was it Isabela said the other night? 'I doubt you could tear wet tissue paper in two, Hawke'? Or was it 'You couldn't fight your way out of a wet paper bag'?"

Glowering, she crosses her arms and lifts her chin defiantly. "She wasn't singing the same tune when I beat her at arm wrestling."

"I am sorely disappointed to have missed that."

Outside, the Chantry bells chime the hour. It's late. If he's any hope of being well rested for tomorrows work, he can not dwaddle any longer. Much as he may want to.

"Until next time, then," she says, opening the door and walking outside with him. The night air is cool and crisp, and the cold of the cobblestones seeps into the soles of his feet. "Be careful."

"Until next time, Hawke."

With a last wave goodbye, he turns for home, feeling the warmth of her gaze at his back.

* * *

Author's Note: Edited this a bit for clearer reading and fixed some typos.


	2. Chapter 2

.ii.

Hawke helps people, it is simply what she does. In a way, she feels it was what she was always meant for, and her name is proof of that. Aleka Hawke: helper of man. She befriends an ex-pirate captain, a Dalish blood mage, a possessed apostate Grey Warden, a talented tale telling dwarf, an exiled prince, a guard captain named after a chevalier, and a Tevinter fugitive all because each in turn had asked for her help. Helping people, she believes, is her Maker given duty.

So of course she thinks nothing suspicious of the note she finds resting atop her desk, just after evening meal, folded twice over, as if to keep it from prying eyes. She does not question the familiar writing on the page, harried but concise, Anders' scrawl requesting help so late at night, or the fact that this note has appeared on her desk with no means of delivery in sight. She _does_ wonder if he needs more help with making that potion that is supposed to separate him from the spirit of Justice currently residing rent free in his head, or perhaps he has finally decided to trust her with the lesser known machinations of the mage underground he runs.

She doesn't bother hunting down Bodahn, wherever he is, to tell him she's headed to the Docks, only telling Sandal when he inquires, "Enchantment?" as she head to the door. She doesn't know that the note she left sitting open on her desk spontaneously combusts, going up in strange green blue flames not moments after she has left the estate, and doesn't know that Sandal happily claps in awe as it burns and leaves nothing but fine ash. She doesn't spare a thought as she heads to the Docks, armored robes swaying behind her, staff bouncing, shivering in the chill of the night.


	3. Chapter 3

.iii.

Today's haul has been good. Clarence has been out all day begging, and he has gathered a sizable fistful of coin. He's counting it out, wondering how much rotgut it will get him, when the Champion of Kirkwall rounds the corner, walking with purpose. Ah! He knows her, she always spares him several silvers, and he doesn't even have to launch into the sad (and heavily falsified) story of how his entire family died in the Blight. Well meaning girl, always kind, always wishing the Maker's blessing on him, and giving the coin to back up her words unlike those pretentious Chantry sisters who turn their noses up at him. Granted, they know what he does with the money and she doesn't... With her contributions, he just might manage ale tonight, maybe brandy if he really works for it. He begins to stir from behind his crate, with the intent of asking her for her kindness and generosity once again when a discomforting feeling settles on his shoulders. He knows this feeling well. Sixth sense, some call it. The one that lets you know when you'd better start running. It's saved his life countless times before, and he's not about to risk defying his intuition, even for the Champion's coin, so he slinks back into the shadows, watching quietly.

It isn't surprising when a group of masked men emerge from what seems to be thing air, circling her silently. She stops mid stride, assessing them. He can only see her shoulders from his vantage point, but he can read her movements, the squaring of shoulders, the angling of her hands. She mutters a surprisingly vile curse under her breath.

He knows a hopeless fight when he sees one. She's outnumbered at least 20 to one. He considers running to get one of her infamous companions. The pretty boy healer that runs the clinic in Darktown, maybe? He might even get a reward for his heroism. However, fleeing isn't really an option for either of them; he's sure to be spotted if he makes a move now, and they have her completely fenced in, these masked thugs with matching uniforms adorned with blue marks. One steps forward, apparently the leader.

"Well, are you going to attack me, or are we going to stand here all night staring at each other?"

She is met with complete and utter silence. All he can hear is his own breathing and the sloshing of waves.

"Perhaps I could get you to reconsider? I never was much good at staring contests."

The leader finally responds, raising one gloved fist slowly, leveling it with his head. The Champion braces herself, bright purple lighting crackling around her own fists.

"I don't know who you are but-" She is cut short by the nauseating sound of arrow puncturing flesh. Staggering with the force of the blow, she looks at the projectile protruding from her bicep, and back at the leader. Never breaking the gaze, she reaches over and snaps the arrow with a small hiss and whimper of pain through gritted teeth, and drops it. And then, with a force he cannot see, she lifts five of the group, including the leader, up clear off the ground, and slams them back down with the telling crunch of breaking bones. Despite this, none of the others still standing move. She moves to dispatch the rest of them, summoning blue wisps of spirit to her fingers when the magic flickers and dies on her fingertips. She stumbles, staring at her hands.

"What-what did you-" her words are slurred, and she fights to stay upright. Another fight with insurmountable odds, it seems. She fumbles with her unresponsive hands, trying to grab her staff, and pulls it weakly over her shoulder, tearing an amulet from her neck. The chain snaps, and ti bounces to the ground, and rolling off into an alley way while she struggles, disappearing behind a crate. Whatever they've done to her takes full affect, and she drops to the ground, paralyzed, unblinking eyes wide with fear, darting over the figures approaching her.

The unwounded gather her up as her mouth faintly twitches, trying to speak. As quickly and quietly as they'd arrived they disappear into the night, leaving no evidence of the short altercation. Nothing except...

As soon as he's sure they're gone, he streaks into the alley and gropes in the dark on the ground. It takes time, but he eventually finds the amulet, bearing the Amell family crest. He tucks it in his pocket and hobbles off into the night. Treasure like that is bound to get him some good coin. Chance of reward outweighed by the value of the jewelry in his hands, he leaves.

* * *

(Note: I'm spamming the first couple chapters for you guys, so you don't get bored. I promise it'll pick up soon:3)


	4. Chapter 4

.iv.

Hawke will be pleased to hear the job went without any excitement. Two days of easy guarding is not what he expected, but it isn't so bad. Well, the incessant inane chatter of the other hired guards became tiring after a while, but aside from that, pleasant enough. Certainly not exciting as working with Hawke, though, who manages to stumble across dragons, Kirkwall gangs, and slaving rings all within the space of a week. And truth be told, she is far more enjoyable to guard.

He considers stopping by her estate to let her know all is well, though she's probably still asleep, curled up underneath a mountain of blankets (despite her Ferelden heritage, she cannot seem to acclimate to the Kirkwall cold), hair in enchanting disarray about her face, with Galahad at the foot of the bed taking up more room than is needed. He allows himself to dwell on this image of her sleeping. In these last few months, it seems as it's the only time she is ever truly relaxed. In her waking hours, she can always be found tending to the needs of Kirkwall, taking up every plea for help directed toward her.

He's thinking affectionately of the time when they'd been trapped in a cave on the Wounded Coast during a dangerous thunderstorm while on a routine search for potion ingredients (which resulted in the lot of them, Varric, Hawke, Anders and himself, being trapped in a cave for hours, but had actually been rather enjoyable if he ignored the presence of the abomination), when he steps off the stairs to the Hightown estates and spots Varric knocking on his door.

Pounding is more appropriate, he finds, as he crosses the square.

"I swear, elf, if you don't wake up and open this damn door, by Andraste's dimpled ass cheeks I'm gonna-"

"Threats are not necessary," he says, and Varric rounds on him, looking half ready to act on his unfinished threat.

"Broody? What are you doing out here?"

"A question we must all ponder at some point," he responds with a smirk. To his surprise, Varric doesn't even crack a smile, or at the very least an appreciative snort.

"This is serious. Hawke's missing."

Missing.

A sharp pang of fear jumps through his chest.

"What do you mean 'missing'?"

"I mean we were supposed to meet the night before last for drinks. She never showed. That's weird in itself, you know how she likes to be on time, but I figured she probably got side tracked with something more important. I went to check on her this morning. She hasn't been home in three days."

"You thought she'd be here?"

"I had hoped. If she's not with you, maybe she has a guy on the side."

Beneath the anxiety, something else jabs at him, unpleasant and dark.

"Have you checked the Chantry?"

"What, you think she's seeing Choir Boy?"

Fenris casts the dwarf a withering look. "No. But she makes a point of attending service."

"Never heard of a service that lasted that long. The regular length ones are bad enough."

"What about Merrill? Or Anders? Could she be with either of them?"

"Blondie, maybe. I saw Merrill the other day, and she hadn't seen Hawke either."

"Then we speak to him." He turns, hands curling into involuntary fists as he makes for the direction of the Undercity. If that mage has caused her harm...

"Whoa, whoa, hold on there, Tall, Dark and Angry, I know you don't trust the guy, but I really don't think she's there. I went by her estate to see if she was there, but didn't look around. Why don't we go there first to see if she's left a note or anything."

He nods affirmatively, and they set off quickly to her home as the sun rises and dissipates the fog that fills the early morning streets of Kirkwall.

"I'm sure she's fine, wherever she is. Probably got stuck trying to rescue a kitten from a tree or something."

"She has an undeniable talent for attracting trouble."

"She's fine," Varric repeats, sounding more like he's trying to convince them that he is sure of the fact.

* * *

Author's Note: I did not expect this to get as many views as it did, what with all the Inquisition fics flooding in (I haven't played it yet because my computer is a potato)! Thanks to each and every one of you! And shoutout to DarkAngelWing19, KC Pendragon, corsairr (ilu), Thedarklordnert (ilu2), and Nezumi for making me blush. There will be more Hawke/Fenris. So much more, I promise.


	5. Chapter 5

.v.

"I'm alive. That's good," is her first thought as she blinks awake, staring at the wooden boards above her head, entire body aching like those nights where she lets Isabela convince her to drink a little too much ale a little too late into the night. Her head throbs with the beating of her heart. For some reason, the world is rocking, and muffled voices can be heard from somewhere.

For a moment, she is blissfully unaware of her predicament, and then it all comes crashing down on her. Gradual realization of how she has come to be wherever she is. Dinner with Fenris, his smiling eyes and deep laughter, and the subtle turning up of his lips at her terrible jokes, leaving and telling her that he'll be back in a few days, the note from Anders asking for her assistance at the Docks, the mysterious figures that overtook her and the fight-

She jerks up, moving to stand, but is caught by her neck, flailing back under the unexpected bonds. Crashing back the floor, she almost cries out at the pain that shoots through her arm when she lands on it. The wound on her right arm where they'd shot her. She rubs it absently for a moment, and then raises her hands to her neck, finding a thick metal collar, smooth to the touch around her neck. It is at least half a handspan wide and loose enough to slip her fingers under, but not enough to slip.

"Fire and damnation."

Unable to do much about the collar, she rechecks her wound, finding it has been bandaged. Beneath the clean white gauze is a series of efficient, straight stitches. With an indignant sniff, she holds her hand over the wound and begins to heal it.

Tries to heal it.

Nothing happens.

She looks at them with confusion, shaking them out as if the motion will loose the magic and tries again. And again, there is nothing. It's not the absence of magic, she can feel it, the same old constant hum as always, but for some reason, she can not conjure, can not bring it forth. She tries a simple fire spell, the most rudimentary she knows, and it takes all of her will power, and a great deal of cursing to manage a tiny flame and a puff of smoke.

It's the collar, she realizes after several moments of irritated speculation, it must be, what else could separate a mage from their power than a magic suppressing enchantment. Sure enough, the marks that run the circumference of the damned thing feel like enchantment runes. This kind of magic, she's heard of it, in theory, but the only place where something like this might be attempted-

The startling understanding freezes her heart for a beat, two, and then it roars back to life, hammering in her chest.

The mob that jumped her, their armor, with blue swirls denoting their status as slavers just barely visible in the dim moonlight; the collar around her neck, enchanted with arcane magic not easily found in but one country; and the rocking world around her, not Kirkwall, but a ship...

It can't be what she thinks it is, what she fears it is, but all signs point to it. Denial and desperation keep her form voicing the probable, but she shoves it down under courage and willpower.

"I've got to get out of here. Yes, get off a ship in the middle of Maker knows where with no idea how many I'll be facing with no magic and no weapons. Brilliant." Thankfully, she still has her armor, and she suspects Sandals superior runes are responsible for the sputter of flames she was able to manage, despite the magic abating collar. Above her head, a burst of laughter rings out, men and women's voices both, harsh and cold. She does not want to know what they're laughing about as her heart wrenches in her chest.

As the quiet conversation resumes above, she takes a moment to look around her prison. A fairly standard ship's hold, if anything is to be said of it. Completely empty, except for herself and a few crates that sit in stacks around the square room. Lantern light spills through the cracks above. She turns as best she can to examine the arm length chain that holds her fast to the wall. It jingles quietly as she does so, catching the light, and showing more runes carved into each thick chain link. It's bolted fast to the wall. Clearing her throat, she questions the wisdom of calling out, and alerting her captors of her consciousness. She's tired, and her stomach feels uncomfortably hollow, like it had during her first few months in Kirkwall, but she's not so desperate yet to risk dealing with them any sooner than she has to.

"Should have been a rogue," she mumbles, testing the bolts that hold the chain to the wall. They look to be secure, no way she can pull them out, but maybe the wood around it... If she can manage a little more fire, she might be able to char it enough to pull the bolts free. Pushing pure force of will to her fingertips, she envisions the fire roaring up to the ceiling. Nothing comes. And this time, it doesn't matter how hard she pushes, she is spent, not strong enough to push past the collar.

"Why would they go to all this effort to capture me?" she wonders aloud, whispering to herself in the dark hold of the ship. "Have a really made myself such a nuisance that they felt this was necessary?" The ship rocks, and she hears the voices above, slavers no doubt, except this time they are not laughing, but speaking in low clipped tones. Finally, they go silent, leaving nothing but the sound of rolling waves in their wake.

"Good job, Hawke. You've stepped in it this time." She heaves a sigh, and watches the stars through the slats of the ceiling.

* * *

Author's Note: Another chapter for all of you lovingly following this story of mine! Or grudgingly, either way. I appreciate every single review, favorite, follow, virgin sacrifice, et cetera. Stay tuned! It can only get worse from here!


	6. Chapter 6

.vi.

Orana is carrying her mistress- lady's freshly laundered clothes through the main room when Galahad stands and watches the door in the peculiar way he does before they have a visitor. She sets the basket down the stairs, and brushes her hands on her apron just as the knocking starts. As she moves for the door, she pets Galahad on the head with affection, and he trots behind her, comforting presence pressed against her leg.

Messeres Varric and Fenris are at the door, looking noticeably perturbed. She lets them in, and Galahad twines between the two, stubby tail wagging.

"Hello Orana," Varric greets her with a grin, though it is strained. "Would you tell Bodahn I'm back?"

"Right away, Messere Varric," she gives a quick curtsy and sets off in search of the other dwarf.

"Nice to see you too, boy," she hears him continue as she leaves the room. Galahad barks happily.

She finds Bodahn bent over a ledger, intently pouring over the contents while Sandal re-arranges his box of enchanting equipment for what must be the fourth time that day.

"Bodahn, Messere Varric is here with Messere Fenris. They wanted to see you."

"Ah, of course. I'll be right out."

She turns to go, and Sandal mumbles sadly as she walks by. "Pretty lady sails away." Something about his words and tone unsettles her, but she disregards it, and goes back to the main room.

"-brings him nearly everywhere. That he is not with her is worrisome." Fenris's face is more drawn than usual.

"That doesn't prove anything, Broody. Besides, some might say the same of you." Varric looks like he's trying for a joke, but it doesn't go over well.

"He will be out in a moment," she says, her voice incredibly quiet compared to their own, despite their hushed tones.

"Thank you," Fenris bites out, words clipped. She bows a little underneath his intensity.

"Hey, Broody, watch your tongue around the lovely young lady," Varric chastises. He harrumphs, but looks at her with a touch of shame. "My apologies." She dips her head with a small smile, feeling the desire to speak welling up in her throat. Once upon a time, she would have done well to quash any such feelings, but Hawke always encouraged her to speak her mind.

"I understand Lady Hawke has been missing for several days now."

"Don't worry yourself too much, like I told him," he shoots a glance at the white haired elf's sour face, "She's probably run off to help some poor sod, and we'll find her grinning and with the adoration of a small village at her back, or something."

"Or something," Fenris echoes, and it is very apparent that he does not believe this is the case. It seems Varric does not truly believe this is the case either, if the look on his face is anything to go by.

"Are you always this pessimistic?" Varric frowns at him. Galahad wanders over the the elf and sits at his feet. Orana knows the only other person he does that to is the Lady.

"Messeres!" Bodahn says, a touch of anxiety in his usually jovial voice. "I take if you've found nothing of Lady Hawke."

"Hide nor hair," he says with a shake of his head. "She wasn't with Fenris, hasn't been to the Hanged Man, hasn't been to see any one as far as I can tell-"

"Bird Man!" Sandal yells, making his presence known. Everyone turns to him, to see he is pointing to Hawke's study.

"Bird Man?" Varric echoes, brows raised.

"Oh, my boy has quite the imagination, I'm afraid. He dreams up all sorts of things, scary old ladies and horrors in the woodshed and what have you. Go along now Sandal." The boy looks mildly hurt to have been ignored. "Bird Man!" he insists.

Orana has heard him say that before- Anders! He must be talking about the Lady's friend! Fenris is talking now, low and angry sounding, and she's afraid to interrupt him, but she gathers her courage and speaks.

"I think he means Anders."

All eyes in the room swivel to her. "Bird Man!" Sandal agrees triumphantly.

"Is he saying what I think he's saying? Hawke went to go see Anders?" Varric crosses his arms.

"To the boats! Fire letter enchantment."

"Docks," Fenris translates. "Why would Anders want to see her at the Docks in the middle of the night?"

"And what is 'fire letter enchantment'?" Orana bites her lip. She's not sure she's correct about her hunch as far as the letter, but holding back information could mean the Lady's death. She can't imagine allowing that to happen, not after what the lady had done for her.

"My mistress- former mistress- Hadriana," she begins, and sees Fenris's fists clench, "She used to send letters that would burn themselves after the intended recipient had read them."

"So what I'm getting here is Hawke got a letter from Anders that told her to go to the Docks, and then it burned itself up," Varric reiterates, disbelief evident on his face.

"Clever. Leave no evidence," Fenris adds, not sounding very praising despite his words. "He is fully capable of such magic."

"Alright, we'll go talk to him, see what's going on."

"I knew the mage was involved in this. I knew one day he would go too far." Fenris is growing more agitated by the moment, eyes darkening dangerously.

"We don't know anything yet, so let's not jump to conclusions. We'll go talk to him."

He grunts in acquiescence, but Orana wonders if that means anything. She had heard the conversation he and the Lady had had when they freed her from Hadriana, how he had promised not to kill her yet did anyway.

Hawke didn't blame him. And over time, she began to understand why she should not either.

They leave, and Galahad barks sadly at the door as it closes behind them. Orana pets his head comfortingly, and returns to the laundry, silently asking Andraste to protect her.

* * *

Author's Note: Still with me guys? If you're enjoying the story, please leave a review and tell me! And if you aren't, leave a review anyway! I'm open to comments and criticism. Next up: Anders getting into trouble, as per the usual.


	7. Chapter 7

.vii.

"ANDERS!"

Another patient? And an angry sounding one at that. He's up and pulling a shirt on over his head, stumbling across the small closet he calls a room. 'Not another, please, powers that be.' He's so tired from last night's shift he almost doesn't care if it is someone missing all of their limbs, or the Templars finally come to take him away. In fact, it might be a mercy at this point.

_Not Templars._ Justice speaks in his mind. _But equally threatening. Be vigilant._

"Maker, elf, if I were him and I heard you bellowing like that I'd be climbing out the back window right now." Varric, he can tell, voice like he's been gargling with shark's teeth and broken glass.

"Then let us hope he has more courage than sense. Mage! Show yourself!" And Fenris. Delightful.

He emerges from the back room, irritation replacing the last remnants of sleep. Last night had been a veritable guantlet, it seemed the next morning was already shaping up to follow suit. He catches sight of the two, standing in the doorway of the empty clinic. "Please, a little louder, I don't think _every single Templar _in the Gallows heard you!"

"Gladly," the elf growls, fists curled and shoulders hunched, poised to strike "As soon as you tell us what you've done with Hawke."

What he'd done with Hawke? Unfortunately nothing. The last time he'd seen her was a few days before, when she'd invited him out for Wicked Grace night and he'd declined, too many people to take care of. She'd stayed behind, and helped him with that night's patients. He almost smiles at the thought. He can still see her, bent over a patient, pulsing with healing magic, smiling at everyone, reassuring and kind.

"I'm flattered that you'd think she's with me," he says, snapping out of his reverie, "but I haven't seen her in days."

"Enough games! Where is she!?" The lyrium on his skin flares to life, bright, blinding light, and Justice responds, surging under his skin, ready and willing to tear the insolent, hateful elf apart, if need be.

"Why are you asking me? I. Don't. Know." he repeats, curling his own fists in response. His staff is just a few paces away, balanced on the wall...

"Enough, both of you!" Varric steps forward, raising his hands "Blondie, Hawke went missing a few days ago. No one has seen her."

"And we found that you sent her a letter telling her to meet you at the Docks." Fenris glares at him with skin prickling intensity.

"I'm sure you have this letter with you, then? Let me see it."

"That's the thing. As far as we can tell it was enchanted, 'burn after reading' style. Sandal was the only one who saw it."

"The finger of blame is pointing at you, mage."

"Can you put his muzzle back on, or something?" It's far too early in the morning to deal with this half rabid dog, especially after the nights he's had. Fenris starts stalking toward him, his intent evident on his face.

"Very well, abomination, if you will not tell us, I'll will force the truth from you."

"No! No, let's not and say we didn't, alright!" Varric yells, once again jumping in front of the advancing elf, holding him back.

"Look, I don't know where she is, I haven't seen her. I spent all night here, healing people. I'm sure a good portion of the city can vouch for my whereabouts. I didn't send Hawke any letters, much less any enchanted ones."

They stand in tense silence.

"I believe you," Varric finally sighs, taking his restraining hand off Fenris' chest plate. "But if you didn't send for her, that means someone else did, using your name. That's not good."

"What do you think happened?" Genuine fear is starting to grip him, overriding the adrenaline of a possible fight, and his fatigue from the night before. Hawke doesn't just disappear without a trace, she's always got one of them with her, traipsing about Kirkwall like vigilantes.

"No idea, not yet, you were our only real lead."

"The Docks." Fenris grumbles.

"And the Docks, seems like that's where she was headed."

Justice settles into the back of his mind, the threat appearing to have passed, for the moment. Now his focus is Hawke.

"Alright." He nods, and turns, gathering his things, throwing on his coat. "Alright. She's missing. I'm coming with you. Three heads are better than two. I'll help you look." They both look at him witheringly. "You said it yourself, some enchanted letter telling her to meet Maker knows who? She could be in danger. I'm coming with you, no argument."

"It keeps getting better," sighs Varric, pressing his fingers to his forehead. "Three heads are not better than two when two of them are moments away from killing each other."

"I can control myself. You will have no trouble from me," Anders assures, with a look of disapproval at the elf, who couldn't sneer any harder without tearing his face in two. His assurances are met with a derisive snort from said elf.

"Then let's move. The sooner we find her the better."

He pulls on his boot, quickly lacing them, reminded of all the practice he'd had dressing quickly while in the Circle. Drawing a cloak over his shoulders in the darkness of night, preparing to flee. He hadn't had to flee from very much in these last years, thanks to Hawke, Aveline and Varric too. They'd used their combined authority to keep him safe from most threats; Templars, thugs, Carta, Coterie, and the like. He didn't deserve it. Didn't deserve friendship. Not when-

_It must be done._ Justice-Vengeance reminds him. _No half measures. No compromise._

With a last heavy sigh, he collects his staff and leaves the clinic.

* * *

Authors Note: My eternal and undying love to MidnightCarnival (I absolutely hate Danarius with very fiber of my being. I was tempted to write him as a cucumber, but that would be an insult to the vegetable), Nezumi (You could honestly just leave me ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) faces for reviews and I'd be content), DreamsKillReality, Jcvbpickle, MazzieRoko, Please Insert Girder (erotic), Syola, TakableFirebird17, The Musketeers 29 (that's a lot of musketeers), and shelby147. You have all warmed my cold, dead heart. And we've got plenty more on the way. Next up, we meet the irritating prick behind this whole mess! Can you feel the excitement? Stay tuned!


	8. Chapter 8

.viii.

She doesn't even realize she's fallen asleep until she wakes with a start, jerking away from the wall, holding up her hands in self defense, forgetting how utterly useless the gesture is. The voices outside are silent still, and the only light streaming through the boards above her is silvery moonlight, bright and scant. Somehow, she has managed to sleep through another day. Perhaps the effect of the magebane that they had used to incapacitate her earlier. The boat creaks, rocks, almost soothingly. Save for the small patch of moonlight, the cabin is nearly pitch black, vague shapes still in the shadows.

Relaxing, she settles back against the wall, though she's still a little wary.

"Damn. I was hoping this was all some sort of terrible fever dream."

A low chuckle follows her words, and she jumps back into a defensive position, collar yanking her back as she she rolls her shoulders forward too far.

"Aleka Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall," the formless voice drawls, something about it oddly familiar and yet completely foreign.

"Guilty as charged," she ventures and earns another short chuckle, and a satisfied sigh. The speaker is still hidden in the dark, and she in unable to pinpoint him with acoustics alone.

"Ah, you exceed expectations. Your writer friend gives you far too many flaws."

She would be flattered if she wasn't chained to the wall of some boat, being praised by a voice that thus far made her feel more uncomfortable than the time her mother had arranged a blind date with Seneschal Bran's son.

"He's been known to play 'fun with facts'. I hope it wasn't his characterization of me that earned me this," she says, plucking at the thick collar. Light glints off of it and casts a ray into the shadows where she can almost make out... something. Something human, by the looks of it.

"I'm sure you must be uncomfortable."

"A bit of an understatement."

The voice offers nothing else on the matter, so she presses forward. "I imagine you have good reason for this." She plucks at the collar. "I don't attack unless attacked."

"Oh, I have heard of your mercy. What a kind soul you are, to let so many who have begged for their lives at your feet live. Not all of them appreciate it, you know. Some harbor a great resentment for you." It's getting harder to keep up the repertoire with this man. The more he speaks, the more she is repulsed by him. Something in his words is wrong, barbed and poisonous.

"Is that why I'm here? Why you've kidnapped me? Somebody with a bone to pick? And who are you, for that matter?"

He sighs again, and she can hear wood shifting in the dark, just to her left. "Such spirit you have. Very entertaining. Most would be begging or bargaining right now."

"I'd have to know what I was begging or bargaining for."

"Nothing you can afford, I assure you," he replies, haughty in the most infuriating way.

"What is it you want, then?"

"You are a healer, are you not? A spirit healer?

Her brow crinkles at this. "Yes. One of my more useful talents. No one appreciates my incredible puns."

He ignores her latter statement. "Very powerful too, I am led to believe. You fought the Arishok in single combat and won. That is no small feat. I wondered if the collar would be strong enough to contain you." Well, at least her hunch about that had proven correct.

"What, afraid I might heal you to death?"

He laughs, and the sound is hollow.

"Who are you?" She asks again.

Again, he chuckles, and she finds herself growing to hate the noise. "I'm hurt. My little wolf has never spoken of me?"

Her heart skips a beat.

"Danarius," she rasps, throat suddenly dry and head light. Ice is sliding down her spine, and she has to repress the urge to lunge for the man.

"He has then, how gratifying. I trust you've heard good things?"

She laughs, part disbelief, part fear, part absolute, all consuming hatred.

"Wonderful. Then I imagine that must answer all of your questions." He draws out of the shadows and up to full height. Tall and imposing, gray eyes make their way across her face and down her body. He tugs at the end of his beard with a smirk.

"Bait. You're going to use me to draw him out."

"As intelligent as you are spirited and beautiful. How rare women like you are," he laments. She can't tell if he is truly flattering her, or mocking her. "Fenris chose his protector well."

Heart pounding in her chest, she swallows, working to form a coherent sentence. He's going after Fenris. She can't let that happen. Can't let this monster lay hands on him again. Her mind begins to function again, looking for an opening, something, anything to subvert him.

"What is your plan, then? Do you mean for him to swim out here to confront you?"

Danarius chortles, tilting his head like a predator. "How charming, my sweet."

"I'm not your anything!" she snaps in fear and ire, baring her teeth at him.

The amusement on his face morphs into anger, smile frozen in place, with a very different connotation. In the blink of an eye, he has crossed the hold and snatched her face up in between his fingers, nails biting into the soft skin of her neck, just above the collar.

"I think that you are anything I chose you to be, _my sweet_." He leans close, breath warm against her jaw. "Would you not agree?"

She fights to stay perfectly still, teeth clenched with the effort. His very proximity is disgusting. Everything about him is absolutely vile. She has not felt such hate since she struck down her mother's murderer, Quentin.

He smiles pleasantly, and the false veneer of civility falls back into place. And then he bursts into laughter yet again, drawing back, almost doubling over with the intensity.

"My, my, you are the most fun I've had in so very long. I will regret having to kill you." If at all possible, her heart wedges itself more firmly in her throat. "I wouldn't if I didn't have to, you understand, but you did kill my most promising apprentice." Hadriana, undoubtedly. That woman had gotten away far more than she deserved: a quick, relatively painless death.

"You are truly willing to do this? He is not my only friend. When he comes, he will have an army at his back." A small, but devastating army.

Danarius doesn't answer immediately, and she picks up on his hesitation. "Undoubtedly, your absence will cripple your companions. And Fenris," he grins terribly, "He is too prideful to seek out help."

"You don't know him. He is no fool. He will have help whether he requests it or not. And he will stop at nothing to see you dead."

"And yet I hear fear in your voice, my sweet. If you were truly so confident in his skill, and your friends' loyalty, you would not bother warning me, unless you've come to admire me so much in the short time we've known each other."

A joke that is not even remotely humorous in it's absurdity.

"There will be loss of life, on both sides," she answers diplomatically, words slipping out before she can think twice. "We can avoid that altogether. I present you with an alternative."

"I care little for, 'loss of life', but I am curious; what do you propose?"

Her head is spinning and her breath is shallow and fast but her eyes are clear and she realizes that this is insane, the words she's about to speak.

"Take me in his place."

He blinks in disbelief, smile turning the edges of his mouth up.

"I did not lie when I said I'd heard much of your kindness, but I must confess I am surprised by this."

"It's a fair trade, and far easier than what you plan," she presses on. "I'm already here. I'm a healer, a good one, if I may say so myself, and the Champion of Kirkwall, that's worth something, isn't it? Not to mention, as you said, I fought the Arishok in single combat and won. Imagine what a blow that will be to Qunari morale, the _mage_ who bested their leader subjugated by a Tevinter Magister." His mouths turns up at the edges as she speaks. "And to top it all off, I will go willingly. Fenris will fight to the bloody end."

"You assume I care for this war between Par Vollen and my country."

"I know that you are probably not eager to see them win it, are you." He nods.

"A very tempting offer you make. Though, regardless of all the accolades you lay claim to, he is still the one I originally came for. I would think he would give himself willingly if I threatened his _love_." He draws out the word, making something good sound disgusting.

"Love?" she echoes, as confused as she sounds.

"It is my understanding that you have fallen for my little wolf. I certainly don't blame you, he is delicious, isn't he?"

The hot, red rage seeping into her vision almost blinds her to rationality. It takes several seconds of deep breathing to work through it.

"There is... nothing any longer. He does..." the words hurt. She doesn't want to have to say them to this man, the tormentor of the love of her life, not the words she has dodged and avoided and denied for the last three years, always hoping, and waiting that there was another chance to be had.

"...he does not love me." Danarius's false conciliatory cooing does nothing to ease the edge. But her feelings don't matter, not now, not while she has people to protect. "I would simply be collateral damage, as would the rest of them." This is far from the truth, but that doesn't matter. She watches him mull over what she has presented to him.

'Maker please,' she silently prays, 'Give me the words. Help me keep them all safe.' And then she almost laughs. 'What a strange several days this has been, praying to the Maker to help me successfully bargain myself into slavery.' The more she thinks about it, the more it makes sense. She is only one person. And she knows they would follow after her, plunging headlong into danger, a danger they might not be able to conquer. She can't allow them to risk themselves, not like this, not when she can settle it herself.

"His only goal is your death. You would unnecessarily risk yourself with him, when I, as I said, will come with you willingly."

"What are your terms?"

"If you accept, I go with you and you leave him alone. Forever. And my friends as well. That is all I ask."

He grins, clasping his hands behind his back. "Very well, my sweet. I will consider your offer." He moves into the shadows again, and the door clicks shut quietly.

And then she is left alone in the silence, with nothing but the knowledge that if this plan of her's works, she will probably never see Kirkwall again. No more stories and pints with Varric, laughing at ridiculously over-exaggerated stories of their conquests. No more being dragged around to boutique after boutique with Isabela, trying on garments she would never wear. No more tea with Merrill under the Vhenadahl, discussing Dalish history and pantheon. No more theological debates with Sebastian, whipping out copies of the Chant and comparing translations. No more patrols with Aveline, making the city streets safe, and teasing each other about their shared romantic sides. No more late nights in the clinic with Anders, healing wounds and making the overburdened man laugh. No more Fenris, reading with him, watching him slowly improve, laughing with him, no more smiles and accidental touches and the promise of what was and what could be again.

This is probably her worst idea yet. But it's worth it, for them.

* * *

Author's Note: To the guest who was desperate for an update, this one's for you, and to Ariel Wild (I think what's going to happen might surprise you! Huh, that sounded like the title to one of those bait click articles.) To all of my new followers/favorites: welcome to the party! Grab a box of tissues and make yourselves comfortable. Next up: Our merry band of misfits is not so easily fooled! Will they be able to put aside their disagreements to save Hawke?

Edit: Added a brilliant idea from MidnightCarnival about that whole battling the Arishok, would make a great trophy for a magister business. Thank you!


	9. Chapter 9

.ix.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Merrill watches as Isabela beams, looking out over the Docks with pride and love at her new ship, _The Siren's Call II._

"I don't understand, why are all ships women? There aren't any male ships?" Isabela tosses her head back and laughs. "No, Kitten, no male ships. They're called 'she' because ships are like women."

"How so?" The little Dalish mage cannot manage to see any sort of womanliness in the vessel bobbing on the waves in front of them.

"Plenty of ways. They've always got men bustling around them, they'll take good care of you if you take good care of them, so on and so forth."

"That's really interesting, I'd never thought of them that way before," she nods without a hint of sarcasm. It's incredible how Isabela can make her see things in completely different ways. She thinks of the Aravels, the land ships of the Dalish, trying to see them as women too. She'd never known any of her people to refer to them as female before.

"Oh, it will feel so good to get back out there. You should come with me. We'll be beautiful pirate women together."

"I'm not beautiful like you," Merrill says shyly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear to hide her smile. Isabela scoffs.

"Nonsense. You don't really believe that, I hope. You are gorgeous. Surely you didn't miss how my crew is already staring at you like they're smitten, the whole lot of them?"

Merrill turns to look, and sure enough, several handsome sailors are grinning at her, some brazen, some bashful.

"Oh! They are aren't they? I thought it was because they thought I was strange looking. Or because they were really looking at you."

"As I said." Isabela smiles brightly at her. "So what do you think? Want to earn your sea legs with me? Watch this insane city disappear on the horizon before those men in skirts go to war in the streets?"

"I would like to. But... I'm a mage. Anders keeps telling me that I should care about the plight of our people. I mean, I do! Oh I don't know. I want to go, sometimes. But I also want to stay. I don't think it's right, what they do here, to mages."

"Me neither, Kitten," sighing, Isabela leans on a stack of crates, eyes scanning the waters. They listen to the sounds of the dock workers talking, trading, laboring, and watch the sun sparkle on the waves. "Hawke won't leave it alone either. She's determined to protect this place, even to the grave. Her and her misplaced mercies."

"I didn't hear you complaining when she fought the Arishok to keep you safe."

The pirate smiles ruefully, tracing letters into the dust on the baked brick wall beneath her elbows. "You got me there. Wish she'd jump ship while there's still a ship to jump, so to speak. I can't really leave while she insists on fighting this stupid, suicidal fight, can I?"

"You could," Merrill shrugs, "But I certainly hope you don't. I'd miss you. We all would."

"Oh, you people have made me soft," she laughs, but it sounds like she really doesn't mind that much. "Next thing you know I'll- is that Varric?"

Merrill turns to see what her friend is looking at over her shoulder, and spies Varric, walking with purpose, Anders and Fenris in tow.

"Ooh, look at them. Looks like trouble. Think we can duck out without them noticing us?" She doesn't get a chance to answer; they're spotted.

"Daisy, Rivaini, what are you two doing out here?"

"Looking at my new, beautiful ship," she calls out triumphantly, gesturing to the vessel. "Hawke helped me purchase her, to make up for killing Castillon and making me all respectable. Why, what are you doing down here?"

"Hawke's missing," Fenris answers, looking well past the point of patience. "Someone lured her down here several nights ago pretending to be him, or so he claims." He jabs a pointed thumb in Anders's direction, who rolls his eyes and crosses his arms in response.

"When did this happen?" Isabela asks, levity draining from her countenance.

"Three nights ago, as far as we can tell. She left home and didn't come back."

"Do you have any idea what might have happened to her?" Merrill interjects.

"Templars, I'd wager," Anders offers. Fenris scoffs, and the former quickly defends his opinion. "She's an apostate mage, and you heard how Meredith spoke to her. She's just been waiting for the opportunity to grab her. Hawke even told me she feared for her life!" The muscle in Fenris's jaw twitches and Varric sighs heavily.

"We don't know who or why, that's why we're here. Looking for leads."

"Makes sense. I'll ask my men if they know anything. They gossip more than a sewing circle."

"I'll come with you, Varric, if you'd like, to help," agrees Merrill.

"Thanks Daisy, I appreciate it. We'll spread out and ask around, see if any one knows anything. We can meet back here in an hour." Every one nods, agreeing to the plan. "Good, let's move. Split up and search for clues." Fenris and Anders are off in a flash, before the sentence is even finished. Varric chuckles a little. "I've always wanted to say that."

"Why's that?" Isabela asks.

"It's from this story about this Mabari hound that talks and solves mysteries."

The look at him as if his head has magically transformed into a squash.

"Never mind. I'll tell you about it later."

With that, they head off.

Merrill manages to talk to several elves she knows from the alienage. They are all pleasant enough to her, but none of them know anything of Hawke's disappearance. Cold air rolls off the water and up the stairs, briny and sharp. And she worries.

She has a lot of friends now, Varric and Isabela and sometimes even Aveline even though it sometimes seems like the guard captain doesn't always approve of her, but Hawke was her first true friend coming to Kirkwall. It doesn't seem like six years have passed since she stumbled into the alienage, hoping that the kind mage that had taken her from the Dalish camp would be willing to come visit her in her new home. And surprisingly, she'd agreed. They'd become great friends since then, and Hawke had stood by her side, took the blame for her failings when Keeper Marethari died, and saved both her life, and the lives of her former brothers and sisters in the Dalish clan. She had even convinced her to cease all use of blood magic.

All of this has convinced her, in way, that Hawke is infallible. She didn't fall even when the Arishok had run her through with a blade longer than she was tall. She didn't break when her mother died; it took time for her to heal, but when she had, she was even more buoyant than before, always ready to help, to offer a kind word or a joke. Nothing seems to keep her down. It seems impossible that someone as strong as she is could be kidnapped. And not knowing where she is... She can't imagine how Fenris must feel about this.

Poor, poor Fenris, who still hides his vulnerability and doesn't open up to anyone (not very much, anyway) who didn't open up to anyone, until Hawke. She has watched her two friends (well, if she can call him a friend without fearing for her life) fall in love and fall apart. It's so very sad. Especially because they're both still so very in love with each other even though-

"-ignoring me for a reason?"

She turns. Standing behind her, Fenris glares with arms crossed.

"What did you say?"

"I said, 'Am I to understand you're ignoring me for a reason?'"

"Oh. No! Sorry, Fenris. I was thinking."

"Did you find anything?"

"Nothing. Nobody I talked had seen her three nights ago, or since."

He doesn't respond, just stares, brows knitted in frustration.

"I guess you didn't find anything either."

He grunts, and digs his heel into the ground.

"No."

"Well, somebody's bound to know something, right? We'll find her, wherever she is. Did you know, one time she came to visit and she brought Galahad with her. He got lost while we were talking and when we found him again he was up in the branches of the Vhenadahl!" She regrets the words once she finishes speaking them. Fenris probably doesn't care about that right at the moment-

"Isn't that some sort of sacrilege?"

"Not that I know of, but now that you mention it, oh my..."

Out of the corner of her eye, it looks as though he's smirking a little.

"Moreover, how did he manage to get up there?"

"I haven't the foggiest!" she exclaims, feeling a little bit of her anxiety ebb away. "Remember when he got stuck on the roof at Aveline's wedding? I just don't know how he does it."

She manages to keep her jaw from dropping when he lets out a humored huff. Lately he's been kinder to her, even stopped calling her 'blood witch' or 'weakling', but this is unprecedented. She doesn't recall ever having seen him come this close to a laugh before, least of all at anything she's had to say. She doesn't say anything else, she doesn't want to ruin the once in a lifetime moment.

"...if anything thing comes up," Isabela finishes, rounding the corner. Her first mate, a tall redheaded man with bulging muscles, is walking beside her. "If someone so much as thinks they might have seen her, I want to know about it."

"Aye, Captain," he nods. She dismisses him, and comes to join them where they stand outside of the entrance to what used to be the Qunari compound.

"Nothing?" she asks bleakly. They both shake their heads. "Huh. Me neither. None of those blighters have heard or seen anything."

Anders wanders back with nothing to offer but creases on his forehead from his frowning. Varric is last to arrive, with as much to offer as they do.

"I'll have my men keep an eye out. They're a savvy lot, ear to the ground and all. If there's gossip, we'll get it."

"We should not stop our search here. Perhaps someone saw her on her way here that night. We might be able to find someone who saw something," Anders suggests.

"I agree. We have little else to go on," Fenris adds. "She does not lack for renown. Someone is bound to have seen her." Anders' jaw actually drops when the fair haired warrior agrees with him.

"Thank you," Anders responds, still looking a little surprised.

"We'll spread out. We've already covered the Docks, so we'll move from here. Blondie, you head back to Darktown and see what you can find. Rivaini, you and Daisy can cover Lowtown. Broody, you head to the Gallows, and I'll go to Hightown and grab Mrs. Guard Captain and Choir Boy, to see if they've heard anything. If you find anything, head back the Hanged Man, and we'll meet there in a couple hours. Sound good?" With a few more exchanged words, they all set off in their own directions.

"Templars," Isabela huffs, as they take the stairs in two. "You don't think he was right about that, do you?"

"I hope not. Hawke told me she would rather be dead than be Tranquil. You don't think they'd do that to her, do you?"

"No. No, they haven't and they probably wouldn't survive the attempt should they be foolish enough to try. But speculation will get us nowhere. Let's go."

* * *

Author's Note: I really think 'aravel' should be the plural of 'aravel', but Dragon Age Wiki says 'aravels' so there you have it. Also, please ignore the Scooby Doo reference. I think I wrote this chapter at three in the morning while watching Zombie Island.

MidnightCarnival, I can't believe I didn't think of the whole 'killed the Arishok, got nabbed by Danarius' thing, that's brilliant! I might have to shamelessly retcon with that idea of yours. Seriously, that was a stroke of genius.

Hope you're all enjoying yourselves thus far. And things are just heating up! Next up: Our favorite gambling drunkard uncle makes an appearance! I gotta admit, I love the guy, even if he is a massive prick. Stay tuned!


	10. Chapter 10

.x.

It's already noon and he's found nothing. None of them have. He arrives at the Gallows and speaks with Knight Captain Cullen, who offers him a tired smile as he approaches.

"Fenris," he nods. "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Hawke. Have you seen her?"

"The Champion?" he clarifies. "I haven't seen her since..." he trails off, racking his mind for the information, "...weeks ago, really. She came by to say hello and ask how Recruit Kerran was."

"And not since then?"

"No, not that I know of. Why, is something wrong?"

He hesitates for a moment, Anders accusations from earlier resurfacing in his mind.

"She's been missing for three days. We're trying to find her."

"You think she would be here?"

"It was a possibility."

Cullen casts a glance over his shoulder, as if making sure he is clear, then he leans a little closer, lowering his voice. "I have not seen her, but I know that Commander Meredith has had no small ire over her status in the city as of late. I'll check, just to be sure, though."

Fenris nods in way of thanks, and turns to leave.

A Tranquil mage brushes past him, looking at him dispassionately, and for a moment he sees Hawke in her place, warm kind eyes dull and lifeless, livid red brand upon her sun-kissed forehead. He blinks and the vision disappears as quickly as it had formed. The tranquil girl politely begs his pardon and continues on her way. Under his breath he curses Anders' fear mongering.

He decides to speak to Solivitus, the shop keeper Hawke often goes to for potions and the like, but he hasn't seen her either. Neither have any of the Templar recruits, who stare at him with wonder as he passes by. The Gallows provide him with no answers, so he moves on to Hightown.

Damn Hawke and her damn need to help people very damn time they ask. He knew this would happen, one day, that someone would take advantage of her charity. He doesn't know who is to blame, but when he finds them, they will wish they had never thought to harm her.

His heart seizes at the thought, though. There are few less deserving of it. Yet he himself has harmed her, terribly. It's three years behind them, but he can still see her heart breaking on her face as he turned and walked away, can still hear her cry out for him one last time before he'd fled.

He's been trying to find a way to apologize. He knows what he did was wrong, and moreover he has regretted it every day since. He had resigned himself to leaving the matter where it laid, half expecting her to go running into the arms of the mage who incessantly threw himself at her (even though she didn't seem to be aware of his advances the majority of the time), or perhaps Sebastian, who despite his vows of chastity looked at Hawke with a longing he understood far too well, but she had not. She'd never looked at another, even after what happened, to his knowledge. And it wasn't as if she had a deficit where admirers were concerned.

A sigh escapes his lips, as he reprimands himself for this train of thought. He has no time to pity himself or regret his foolish mistakes. Hawke needs him.

"Elf! Ah- Wolf bloke, ugh, Maker dammit what's your name?"

He turns to the offending voice, fully prepared to start tearing throats out when he comes face to face with Hawke's uncle, Gamlen.

"Ugh, finally! Thought I'd have to chase you all over this blighted city."

"What do you want?" He man sneers at his curtness, crossing his arms. "Good to see see Little Goody Two Shoes hasn't rubbed off on you any, you prick."

It is only out of respect for Hawke that he doesn't knock this fool unconscious.

"I heard she's missing. People been asking about her. I want to know what's going on."

"You already know the whole of it, then. She's missing, and we're trying to find her."

"That's it? Who took her? Where is she?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be here."

"Got a damn mouth on you, don't you boy?"

He turns and starts walking away.

"I'm not done with you, knife ears!"

A few guardsman on the corner turn and look at Gamlen, readying themselves for an altercation.

"Say what you will and make it quick."

"I want to help you."

He's not sure he's hearing quite right.

"You know there's no reward to be had for finding her, don't you?"

The gray haired drunk runs a hand over his 5 o'clock shadow, sneering at him.

"I know that, you blighted bastard! I'm not doing it for any damn coin."

"Then I fail to see why you'd care-"

"I care because she's my niece! I," he falters, lowering his voice, "I haven't- I'm not always the... easiest person to get along with. I know that."

A vast understatement. It is by the grace of the Maker that Fenris has held his temper this long, with all that's going on.

"But she helped me get back something-someone very dear to me."

"You mean your daughter." He had been there when Hawke met her cousin for the first time. Distinctly, he can remember the pangs of envy he had felt.

"Yes. And I won't let what happened to her mother happen to her too. Our family keeps getting smaller and smaller." He sighs, shaking his head. "So I'm going to help you find her. Now where are we going?"

He almost argues, but he realizes it's pointless. Her uncle is just as stubborn as she is, if not more so.

"I've just covered the Gallows, and we've already gone over the Docks. The others are checking Lowtown and Hightown. I'm open to suggestions."

"The Chantry, maybe?" Gamlen shrugs. "Or the Blooming Rose? She comes in there sometimes."

Fenris almost stops dead in his tracks. Hawke? At a brothel? But he was sure that she-

"I mean, she comes in there, yeah, but not what you think. She gives donations to Madame Lusine. Plays with that little brat that runs around the place." He laughs, shaking his head. "She's too hung up on you to be interested in any of them, anyway."

A choking cough bursts forward from him, a blush settling on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Gamlen laughs even harder. "Embarrassed you did, I? Come on, this isn't a surprise to you, is it? All she ever did when she lived with me is fawn over you."

"I seem to recall her working hard to fund a successful expedition into the Deep Roads around that time," he snaps.

"Alright, she only fawned during her free time. Ridiculous. Nice, I guess. Used to feel that way about someone myself." He's not sure how to respond to that, so he remains silent.

"I messed up. Lost it. Best thing I ever had. You'd do well not to make the same mistake. The people-" he falters, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. "The people we care about are more important than anything else this world has to offer."

Fenris can't tell what the man knows, and what he's inferring. "Thank you for your advice."

"Don't patronize me, elf, I know what I'm talking about." Despite his irritated tone, the man smiles a little. "I know those sods over there," Gamlen says pointing, more than ready for a change of subject. "Let's go talk to them, see if they know anything."

* * *

Author's Note: Oh, Gamlen, feeling parental, are we? Gotta love that guy. Or not.

To all of you still with me, thanks for sticking around! To those just joining us, kick back and enjoy yourselves! Feel free to leave reviews if I messed anything up!

Next chapter: Anders! And Justice! It's a short one, but stay tuned!


	11. Chapter 11

.xi.

If it's not Templars, Anders will eat his pauldrons. This reeks of them, the cowardice of using his name to lure her out. He knows that they don't spend a great deal of time in the Undercity, thankfully, but for when they try to harass him and his establishment. They've been absent for months, now, probably devoting their time to torturing the poor souls being held captive in the Circle, or licking Meredith's boots.

Speaking to the poverty-stricken denizens brings no answers; none of them have seen Hawke, but they all speak well of her. She often gives freely to them. He stops by to talk to Tomwise, who hasn't seen her, but instructs him to tell Hawke to drop by when she reappears for her favorite- combustion grenades, on the house.

Normally, he wouldn't worry too terribly much, she does this often enough, getting into strange situations and tough spots. He imagines where her damn dog gets it, too. There was a morning after she'd been helping him in the clinic that they'd both collapsed out of exhaustion. She'd brought Galahad, and when they woke up in the morning, they found the hound perched several feet out on one of Kirkwall's massive chains that led from the outside of his clinic up into the city proper, sitting there as if he'd belonged. It had taken quite a while to get him down, and a little bit of force magic on Hawke's end, but they both sent the rest of the week wondering how'd managed to get out there. Thinking of all the little moments he's had with her makes the anxiety wrap tighter around his heart. If harm has come to her...

_She is a distraction._ Justice reminds him, voice bouncing around inside his head as he rounds a corner and quickly asks a group of tired, desperate looking refugees if they've seen her. They haven't. He moves on.

_Perhaps it is better. You know what she would do if she-_

'I did as you commanded, Justice. Please. Leave it be. I do not wish to dwell on it further.'

The spirit does not listen. _You have worshiped her from afar while she has fawned over the elf that hates all she is, and stands for. It consumes you. You cannot focus on our true cause while this goes on._

'You've said as much before, many times.'

_And you have not heeded my words._

'You cannot command me to stop caring for her.'

_She is in obstacle in your path, making it impossible for you to focus wholly on what need be done. We are close now. This cannot be done in half measures. The fight-_

A nearby group of citizens jump in surprise as he drives his fist into a wall.

'She is the reason why I fight! Every time I see another mage made Tranquil, or running from the Circle, I see her. I see Karl, I see Amell, I see the little girl we almost killed! But most of all I see her, and I can't- I couldn't-' There are no words. 'I could not live in a world where I allowed anything to happen to her. She gives me the will to fight, and then fights alongside me. All I have asked, and all you have asked of her as well, she has done. You would fault her for that?' Justice does not respond, and he cannot tell if the spirit is reconsidering his stance, or refusing to allow the debate. 'I have nothing besides the cause,' he continues, either way,' and her.'

Pushing away from the wall, he straightens his robes, and continues walking. Thankfully, Justice does not press the issue.

'Even if she doesn't love me.'

* * *

Author's Note: I've played Dragon Age II at least 5 times fully through and let me tell you, I can not resist the broody elf. I've tried so hard to romance all the others, I really have, especially Anders! He deserved better. One day I will be able to resist the elf... one day.

To Nezumi, Amylianna, MidnightCarnival, and Ariel Wild, I have I told you guys recently how awesome you are? No? Well now you know. And To the rest of you guys, you are too.

This one was a short one, but stay tuned, our favorite exiled prince will be making an appearance soon. And Hawke's mabari continues to get stuck in strange places. Excitement! Intrigue! Thousands of dollars in psychiatric bills! Until next time!


	12. Chapter 12

.xii.

It's a very nice day in Kirkwall. The sun is shining high in the sky, and all through Hightown, people laugh and talk, congregating in small circles all over the square. The market is all abuzz, and a group of lovely young noble ladies giggle and smile and flutter their lashes at the young prince as he walks by, assisting Sister Lila with several bags. He smiles back chastely, blush settling on his cheeks at their attentions. Lila notices and laughs, patting his arm in a matronly way with a smile of her own.

"Oh, Sebastian. How womankind will weep when you finally take your vows," she laments teasingly. He laughs.

"I don't think they'd be so upset if they knew who I was. Or who I am."

"We all stumble in life, my boy. You would not hold someone's past transgressions against them, would you?"

It's true, he wouldn't...

"Forgive others, and forgive yourself."

"I don't recall that verse in the Chant, Sister."

"It's not a verse, just a bit of friendly advice."

They continue on their walk, speaking of the city and other assorted topics, though what the sister said about his vows... In truth, he still isn't even sure that vowing himself to the faith was what he was supposed to do, any more. Hawke seemed to think that his place was the Chantry... and he had looked to her for guidance. A faithful woman, strong, just, and merciful as well, a better adviser would be hard to find.

Well, maybe he was a bit biased.

After depositing the thankful Sister Lila at the Chantry, he turns, and takes a deep breath of the morning air, finding himself unable to look away from the gleaming roofs of they city.

"Oh, go and take a walk, you need some time to introspect." Lila grins at him, youthful mischief on a wizened face. He grins sheepishly at being read so easily, but complies, setting off at a leisurely pace, losing himself in his thoughts.

Despite the lovely Lady Hawke's input, Starkhaven still called out to him from across the continent, tormenting him with his responsibility to his people, and his conflicting feelings on his desire to rule. It had been years, and he still struggled with the question. And then there was the Elthina, who refused to leave to keep herself safe. And Hawke, even, who bravely championed his mission of vengeance against his parent's killers, and who had turned down his offer a further reward, claiming it wasn't necessary. So many variables, responsibilities, options to consider. Sometimes, it is too overwhelming.

Turning from his heavy train of thought, he thinks affectionately of how Hawke has come to be such a good friend to him over the years, coming to him with her questions about the Chant and their shared faith when she did not understand something entirely, and he to her, even, at times. When her mother died, it had taken her time to recover from the premature loss of yet another one of her beloved family, but she had come to the Chantry late one night, and kneeled down beside him, eyes red and face ashen. 'Will you please pray for them with me?" she's asked, words wavering in a way he'd never heard before. He'd assumed she'd meant not only her mother, but all those she'd lost; father years before to sickness, Bethany to the creatures of the Blight, Carver to the taint and the Wardens... After their prayer, she had spoken, voice soft but strong in the quiet of late night chapel that night.

"Kirkwall took the last of my first family. But it's given me another. Thank you, Sebastian."

It had been humbling.

"That's why I came to you, Captain. If anything were going on, I'm sure you'd know about it." A familiar sounding voice carries over the low excited chatter of the busy square. He turns, searching for the source.

"And you're sure she's missing? This isn't like the time you told me you were going to meet some contact in the middle of the night and you disappeared to Orlais for weeks?" He spots them across the square.

"Spontaneous vacation," he shrugs.

"And then I hear the Duke Prosper was murdered at Hawke's hand!"

"You know that's not true, Hawke could never _murder_ anyone, even if they really, really needed it."

"I know she didn't, but that's beside the point. I'm asking if you're sure this isn't some other covert operation or-"

"She left Galahad behind! You know she doesn't go anywhere without him or us. And the whole 'Anders sending and enchanted note' thing is really rubbing me the wrong way. All of this is."

"Varric, Aveline," the Chantry brother calls out, armor glinting in the sunlight as he waves his hands to get their attention.

"Choir Boy!" Varric catches sight of him and strides over through the scattered groups of people, Guard Captain at his side. "Good to see you."

"Sebastian," nods Aveline. "Have you heard about Hawke's disappearance?"

"'Disappearance'? What's going on? Is she in trouble?"

"We have no idea. I was supposed to meet her a couple of nights ago. She never came. When I went to check in on her, I found out she hadn't been home in days, and that someone had sent her a letter claiming to be Anders."

"An enchanted letter?" he clarifies.

"Burned itself up after she read it, apparently," the redhead crosses her arms, brows drawn. When she gets that look, there's no question as to how she managed Guard Captain of Kirkwall. "And you're sure it wasn't Anders? Isn't he capable of that?"

"The letter? I would think so, but there's no reason that he would. Blondie's been a grouch lately, but he's no liar. I asked him if he had anything to do with it, and he flat out said no." Frustrated, Varric swipes a hand through his hair.

"Anders isn't the one to be wary of," Sebastian adds, "What about that second passenger he's been carrying around. Do you think...?"

"Have you ever seen that guy? It's all 'Mage rights!' and 'You will never take another!', and the like. Hawke isn't as nuts about it as he is, but she's been quite the ally to him and his cause. Why would he do anything to her? She _is_ a mage."

"Not his M.O.," Aveline agrees. "We should be looking elsewhere."

"Guess you haven't seen her around the Chantry, then?"

"No I haven't. I thought that rather strange, actually. She missed evening service. She never misses that, no matter how busy she is."

"I would like, just once, to hear someone giving me good news. 'Oh yeah, we saw her just a little while passed out in her closet! Nothing to worry about! Nothing at all!'"

"Keep dreaming, dwarf," Aveline huffs, but she looks very much like she shares the sentiment. He certainly does. If both Varric and Aveline are in distress about the situation is unsettling.

"Well, how can I help?"

"I appreciate it, kid. We're supposed to be meeting at the Hanged Man, after we ask around for her. Feel free to come with. If someone hasn't found something, I guess we'll be forming a real search party."

The prince falls into step beside them.

"How long has it been, exactly?"

"She left home three nights ago after evening meal," Aveline says, repeating the details with the practiced skill of a professional. "Sandal was the last to see her. He was the one who saw the letter, and who Hawke told where she was going."

"And that's all we have to go on?"

"Pretty much. When I found out she hadn't been home, I went to Broody's, figured she'd be there, if anywhere. He'd been away on a job all this time. We went back to her estate to see if we could find anything, and Sandal told us about the letter and Blondie. And how she was going to the Docks."

"Sandal told you all that?" To his memory, he's never heard the boy say anything other than 'enchantment'.

"Not in as many words, but Bodahn and Orana helped us translate. So we went to the Docks and found Merrill and Isabela, but they hadn't seen her either. No one has seen anything, as far as we can tell."

"This doesn't bode well," Aveline frowns, shaking her head, her golden red hair swinging.

"That is the understatement of the age," Sebastian shakes his head. "What ground haven't we covered yet?"

Aveline looks at him with mild surprise, and then chuckles. "Well, Sebastian, very take command aren't you? You'll do well for Starkhaven when you return."

Her praise is surprising, though not at all unwelcome. He makes no comment, save for a word of thanks.

"We're heading back to the Hanged Man, then, to meet with the others and see if they found anything. Come on."

* * *

Author's Note: Hello, lovely readership! I apologize for the delayed update; a pretty intense storm blew through two nights ago and has left me woefully without a proper internet connection. But here is chapter 12, thanks for your patience!

To Annemarie01, I don't think anyone can truly resist the broody elf, and if they say they can, they're probably lying. To MidnightCarnival, I think a lot of people can get so absorbed in their pairing of choice that they forget to flesh out the other characters, or dumb them down because they've already been elaborated on in game. I didn't want to paint anyone as a pure, unwavering, 100% hero/villain/baked potato (omg I'm still laughing at that). They're all far too complicated to be quashed into some ill fitting trope. As always, your reviews are priceless.

Next Chapter: We find out if Danarius will take Hawke up on her offer! Oh, the suspense! I really, really hate Danarius! Stay tuned!


	13. Chapter 13

.xiii.

Hawke is not a patient woman. Never has been. It's one of the virtues she's never been able to grasp, not well, anyway. She does her best to pass the time as she waits for Danarius's decision, attempting to work her magic. More and more she is able to channel her power out, working around the restraints, but the effects are little and negligible. Thankfully, when she sleeps, she still walks the Fade. She looks for the dreams incarnations of those she knows, but she is isolated, somewhere foreign and dark. Probably the work of the collar.

When she can't push herself any farther, she roots around in the musty light of day for anything that she might be able to use as a weapon, in the event that Danarius' decision is not favorable. All she manages is a rusty nail, which breaks when she tests it against the thick metal plating of the loop holding her fast to the wall. She spends at least five minutes cursing her own stupidity, and finally settles back, counting and recounting the links in her mail. She's on the third count, number 374 when the door creaks open. She scrambles up and guards herself as Danarius appears on the stairs, carrying what appears to be parchment and quills.

"Awake? Shame, you're very entertaining to watch sleep." She resists the urge to spit on him, just watches as he situates himself on a crate, setting down the writing utensils beside him.

"I've considered you're offer."

Her breath hitches in her lungs. Not entirely trusting her voice not to waver, she speaks, low and controlled. "What have you decided?"

He grins, very obviously enjoying the limbo he is holding her in, shifting and clasping his hands like a man without a care.

"I gave it a great deal of thought. Fenris is quite a prize, you know. Powerful, skilled," he stares into her eyes as he smiles, lecherous and foul, "easy... on the eyes."

At her sides, her fists have curled, nails digging into her palms as she fights to remain calm and not lower herself to his level.

"But I find that you do well filling all those criteria. And your willingness undoubtedly adds to your bargain, not to mention the many, many political benefits that will come from claiming you. I have to wonder, before I come to my decision, though; why you would do this? As you said, he doesn't care for you."

Her jaw clenches involuntarily. His words grate against that raw, broken part of her heart like broken glass.

"That doesn't matter. Will you accept?"

"In a moment, little bird," he chides. His grating voice makes her grinds her teeth. "That's hardly an answer. I want to know why. Is it because you..." he tilts his head, rising from his seat, "love him?" He rises from his seat and approaches her.

"I-" she stops, power over herself suddenly lost, in a horrible familiar way. "I- I love him. I would do anything for him." Equal parts blood and desire. Just like Idunna, he's using blood magic on her.

"A useful spell, that one. Some hold too tightly their secrets. And how funny it is! My little Fenris actually found someone who doesn't see that he is little more than a glorified weapon, a toy for entertainment."

"He is not! He's-"

"What was it about him that grasped your heart? Was it that wonderful trick he can do with his-"

She launches at him, swinging her arms violently, his smug face just inches out of reach. The collar bites into her flesh but she struggles against it, swearing with so much venom even the most hardened of foul-mouths would blush. He doesn't even flinch, just watches with a grin as she bares her teeth, tearing at the air in front of him.

"You vile bastard!" she snarls. He laughs, lifting a hand and flicking his wrist, slightly, the weight around her neck turns to fire, scorching her skin with incredible heat. She screams, jumping back into the wall, clawing at the thing, tearing at it with all of her might, to no avail. Instinctively, she tries to freeze it, with no effect. Danarius just watches with a grin, malice sparkling in his eyes as she writhes and cries out in pain, trying to tear the metal from her neck, skin searing.

Finally, the agony stops and she sinks to her knees, panting, cradling her stinging fingers, though they show no evidence of burns.

"I like you, sweet, little bird. Such loyalty, and compassion. Answer my question, and I will give you my decision; What makes him worth more than your own life? What makes him worthy of your love?"

She doesn't want to give into him, doesn't want him to think for a second that he has the upper hand, but the undeniable truth is that he does, he hold all the cards, and has the advantage. He holds her life in his hands. And Fenris's as well.

"I don't know."

He raises his hand, threat of hot excruciating heat makes her heart seize with panic. "I don't know! I- Everything. He is..." she can't even understand it herself, much less explain it. "He's good. And kind and steadfast. He's smart, and he-he tries to do what is right. He tries to better himself, tries to rise above the poor hand he was dealt." He smirks at her words, but the humor doesn't reach his cold eyes. "More than that I can not explain. I- he-" she shakes her head, wincing at the lingering sting of the burns, "He is a great man. If anyone is worthy of love, it is he."

She internally writhes underneath his scrutinizing stare and silence.

"Interesting," he finally breaks the silence. She risks a glance at him.

"Surely even _you_ know what it is to love."

He laughs, his most brittle and unsettling yet. "No. I do not. Love," he investigates his hands, summoning red energy to dance and twine around his fingers, "is weakness."

She almost pities him for this.

Almost.

"I accept your bargain," he states, red light disappearing. "You will come back to Minrathous with me, and will take your place as my slave." Her breath hitches in her chest. "In return, I will leave Kirkwall, and all of your friends in peace."

"Swear it," she demands, disregarding the vague horror emerging in her heart.

"In blood," he replies, gesturing to the papers he's brought with a graceful hand. A contract. He produces a blade, cool, elegant silver, inlaid with some opalescent gem tinged with crimson.

"You're hand, little bird."

She meets his eye, jaw set, assessing him. He is coolly neutral, a hint of something on his lips, inscrutable. Steeling herself and holding out her hand, she watches as he draws the blade over her left palm, so quick that the pain hits seconds after as her blood pumps up and out and runs through the creases of her skin, spilling onto the floor in it's abundance. He dips a quill into her blood, holding it to her for her to sign the paper, which she does not until she has read the short, but concise document, deeming it acceptable, all worded on the paper as they had agreed upon. He slices his own arm open between faded white scars with the practiced ease of one who has done it many times before, and signs his own name, handwriting ostentatious and aggressive looking. She remembers Fenris, hunched over her desk for hours, working on the same letters over and over, spelling his name, and hers...

"It is done. Now you belong, little bird." He looks giddy for the fact. "There is one last matter, however." He takes her hand and squeezes it until the blood runs into a small, clear vial. A phylactery, she assumes. "So you do not think to let go your end of the bargain, though you are far too honorable to do so, I'm sure." Bitterly, she wishes she wasn't.

Finally, he gives her some paper and another quill, one not soaked with blood, as well as an inkwell. "So to avoid the unwanted attention of your 'army', as you called it, you will write a letter telling them that you have left for your home country, as Kirkwall no longer holds anything for you. You will tell them not to pursue you, and that you wish nothing more to do with them."

As she writes the letter, she ignores the voice in her head that keeps telling her what a blighted fool she is.

* * *

Author's Note: The storm passed and my internet is back to normal! Not that I would have stopped posting even if it wasn't. I love you guys too much to keep you waiting long.

MidnightCarnival, I made you like Sebastian? Wow! That's great! You're right, he did have a lot of wasted potential. I think his writers just sort of got tired or something, and that's why he ended seeming like a whiny broken record. He deserved better. They all did, really. I'll never get over it.

In case I haven't said it; Amylianna, Annemarie01, Ariel Wild, DaleEmperorUltron, DarkAngelWings19, DreamsKill Reality, ElyssaCousland, Jcvbpickle, KC Pendragon, MazzieRoko, MidnightCarnival, Mithari, MmFlamerosemM, Narya's Bane, Please Insert Girder, Polker 91, Red Jeanie, Riona Fury, RuinsofGallifrey, Sebrijela, StarWarsPanda3000, Syola, TakableFirebird17, The Musketeers 29, Thedarklordnert, corsairr, lethian, shelby147, and last but not least veezy713, Thank you for encouraging me! This is all for you guys. And to those of you just lurking, I love you too.

Next up: a short one with our favorite Dalish elf and Pirate queen! Hawke is an idiot! Galahad will probably get stuck somewhere! Stay tuned!


	14. Chapter 14

.xiv.

Isabela owes Hawke, big time.

She's never much enjoyed being indebted to anyone, sometimes when people have done for you, they expect your undying loyalty for the rest of forever. Fortunately, Hawke isn't one of those people, praise Andraste's buoyant, beautiful breasts. It seemed like the Champion, a woman she had never really expected to become friends with, believed that she owed everyone everything she could give. Foolish, Isabela had thought at first, until that ridiculous selflessness had played no small part in saving her from Hayder's dirty tricks, the Arishok's wrath, and finally Castillon. And even after all of this, Hawke had appeared one morning in the Hanged Man over her, smiling and far too upbeat (for that hour of the morning) and had dropped a pouch of sovereigns on the bar with a grin.

_Let's go get your ship._

"What are you thinking about?" Merrill asks, as they walk the streets of Lowtown. They've just passed another one of Hawke's acquaintances, Lady Elegant, who they've informed of Hawke's disappearance and who has in turn told them she will keep an ear out for any news.

"Oh, nothing much, Kitten. What are you thinking about?"

"Hawke," the pretty elf answers, long eyelashes fluttering. "I'm starting to get really worried. I'd expected that we would have found her by now."

"She's tough. Wherever she is, we'll find her and she'll be fine."

"Do you ever wonder if maybe too many people expect her to be tough?"

As usual, Merrill's comments give her pause.

"I don't know. Probably. All of Kirkwall running to her every time they screw up, plus us with our stupid little problems..." she sees her friend droop a little out of the corner of her eye.

"Oh, no, Kitten, that's not what I meant. You can't keep blaming yourself for what happened with that damn demon."

"I'm the reason it happened," she answers meekly, staring at her feet, one in front of the other.

"It's done. All you can do now is move on. Do you think your Keeper Marethari would want you to keep revisiting your mistakes until you drown in your own guilt?"

"No... No I suppose not. I just wish I hadn't let it happen."

"I know. We muck up from time to time. Learn from it and move on." She smiles comfortingly. Merrill returns the gesture, a little bit of her chipper demeanor slipping back into place.

"Thank you, Isabela."

"Once we find Hawke, I'm taking you, her, her blasted brooding boyfriend, and myself, and we'll sail off into the sunset and leave this blighted city to it's own for a while. And if it implodes in the mean time, too bad. I'll hear no arguments from you about it either," she grins.

"A vacation would be nice," Merrill assents with a conspiratorial grin. "I suppose a little one couldn't hurt."

"Too much, anyway," the captain mumbles, tightening her kerchief. "I'm glad I've gotten you to see things my way. Now, I think we've thoroughly scoured this part of the city. Let's go meet the others and see if they've had a better time of it than we have."

Merrill frowns. "I hope so."

* * *

Author's Note: Another short one, I hope you guys don't mind!

It occurs to me that I might have done better writing this fic with a more ambiguous Hawke. A lot of the key points of the one I'm using now play into the story, but tell me what do you guys prefer: Hawkes with strong, defined personalities, or more leave-it-up-to-the-imagination Champions? Let me know! This certainly isn't the last DA fic I'll be writing;)

Shoutout to MC: I'm always so excited to see your reviews!

Next time: The merry band receives Hawke's letter! I'm probably spending too much time on exposition! But we're getting to the good stuff, so sit tight!


	15. Chapter 15

.xv.

"Nothing," Aveline sighs, shaking her head.

They've all congregated around the dwarven table in Varric's suite, with varying degrees of disappointment and worry on their faces. It's been days that they've been searching for answers, combing Kirkwall over and over with obsessive thoroughness. Sebastian drums his fingers on the table top to a rhythm only he knows. Varric scribbles something on a piece of paper.

"We've found nothing. All we know is that we're possibly dealing with a mage. I found an amulet of hers, one with the Amell crest on it, but it had been sold by some drunkard or the other. The merchant couldn't remember, save for that he smelled heavily of alcohol."

"Good job, Guard Captain," Anders mutters. "Proving worthy of your position after all."

The jab hurts. She has doubted her abilities more than once in the past few years, especially after Leandra's death at the hand of a serial murder blood mage, but surprisingly enough, it's Isabela that jumps to her defense.

"Cram it, Crabby, this isn't her fault."

"If she did her job-" Anders starts, looking like he's ready for a fight. They're all on edge, understandably, but Anders' attitude as of late has been very difficult to humor.

"If yours wasn't the name used to lure her out of the safety of her home in the middle of the night," Sebastian retorts, frowning.

"I can't be blamed for that!"

"And Aveline can't be blamed for this. None of us can. So quit finger pointing, all of you," Varric snaps. He looks tired. "I'm doing what I can to gather information right now, but until then all we can do is keep searching."

"How soon do you think you'll be able to find anything?" Isabela asks, leaning forward, looking uncharacteristically serious.

"I'm not sure, Rivaini. Hopefully, within the week. At worst..."

'Nothing' hangs heavy in the air.

Fenris is quiet where he sits, stock still, fingers curled, face inscrutable. He has not spoken a word since they've all gathered.

"Fenris," his eyes flash to her. "You were the last of us to see her. Did she say anything to you that may give us a clue as to what happened to her?"

The room is completely silent, save for the ambient sounds of the tavern as they look to him for his answer.

"No. She didn't say anything that stands out." This doesn't seem to be sufficient enough an answer, so he continues. "We spoke of... unimportant things. We dined, and I left."

Anders huffs but doesn't speak.

"We'll just keep-" Varric starts, but is cut off by a knock on the door. Everyone turns in tandem to the door. The elven delivery boy looks slightly frightened as he enters the room, all eyes on him. "Messere Varric? Message for you."

Varric drops a few silvers in his hand and takes the letter, shooting a look at her. Everyone watches as he breaks the seal, and unfolds it, beginning to read.

"Don't keep us in suspense, Varric," she speaks, not liking the look on his face one bit. "What does it say?"

He looks up at her with confusion and hurt in his eyes. "It's from Hawke."

Everyone starts clamoring and yelling for him to read it aloud, and he nods, motioning for them to be silent.

"'_To whom it may concern,_

_I apologize for my unexplained absence. You need not concern yourselves. I have decided to return to Ferelden, as there is nothing left for me in Kirkwall, a city that has taken everything that was important to me. I could take more of it and its denizens.'_" They all stare, slack jawed and the words he is reading, collectively shocked beyond comment.

"_'Please do not attempt to pursue or contact me. I want nothing more to do with any of you. It is better left behind. I leave my estate and belongings to Bodahn Feddic.'_ Signed 'Hawke'," Varric finishes, shaking his head.

"Let me see that," Anders snaps, snatching the paper from Varric's hands. She waits for the punchline, the elaborate reveal to this stupid joke. It doesn't come. The blonde mage re-reads the words, blinking to clear his vision, as if it will make sense of the words on the page. "I don't understand. Hawke would never say this. She would never say anything like this! This is her handwriting, but not her words."

Cool as ever, Fenris speaks, with an edge in his voice. "We know she was lured away by a falsified letter. This is yet another." He looks more murderous than he did to begin with.

"So someone is trying very hard to convince us that she just up and left. Why?" Sebastian shakes his head.

"She doesn't want for enemies, that's for damn sure," sighs Isabela, tightening the straps on her gloves.

"Or _very _ardent admirers," Merrill adds, voice low and foreboding.

"I think we can at least take comfort in the fact that she's probably alive. No one would go to this much trouble to cover up a murder. I would think kidnapping," Aveline says, trying to put the pieces together.

"That's very comforting, Freckles," drawls Varric in the most sarcastic manner possible, recovering from his stupefied silence. "But she's right. This means there's a good chance Hawke is still alive. And that means we can find her."

Merrill leans forward, setting her elbows on the table. Aveline notes she looks a lot wiser, as of late. "That still begs the question of 'whom', though. Who would go to the trouble to kidnap Hawke?"

"Do you really need me to answer that for you?" Anders asks, crossing his arms and pursing his lips.

"Here we go," Isabela sighs.

"She's a powerful apostate, with the admiration of many people. They're begging her to step up as viscount. Of course Meredith and the Templars want to get her out of the way. And don't you roll your eyes at me," he shakes a finger at the pirate. "You have to at least admit it's a possibility."

"He has a point," Aveline agrees, though the self satisfied look on his face is irritating. "It might even explain the letter, maybe a senior enchanter would know how to enchant one like the note Hawke received. Maybe even explain why they used Anders, of all of us, to get her out there."

"I already spoke to the Knight-Captain, Cullen," Fenris says. "He told me he had not seen Hawke, but that he would stay alert."

"And you believed him?" Anders asks, face scrunching up. "What makes you think he wasn't lying to you?"

"Because we've helped him in the past. I doubt he would stay quiet had Hawke been taken by his fellow Templars," Sebastian answers. Anders doesn't seem to want to accept this argument, though.

"It's about the only thing we have worth investigating, her amulet is a dead end," Varric agrees. "Broody, Freckles, Rivaini, care to accompany me to the Gallows?" Standing, he spares one last look at the letter, refolding it and slipping it into his pocket.

"And Blondie, before you say anything," Varric adds, cutting the mage off before he can utter a word, "If they are responsible, then the last thing we want to do is go parading you around in front of them. Out of sight, out of mind."

He doesn't look particularly happy about that, but mumbles his assent. She, Isabela, and Fenris join Varric.

"The rest of you, if you have any other ideas, feel free to pursue them. We'll meet back here later if we find anything."

As they leave, Aveline is the first to speak. "Do any of you think Anders has anything to do with this?" she asks, the concern pressing on her mind. "He's been acting strange lately."

"I'm think his latest wardrobe update was just an attempt to grab Hawke's attention, honestly," Isabela says, cleaning under her fingernails with a small dagger as they walk. "She likes them in all black, or so I would assume." Fenris tellingly turns his head, stare fixed the crowd.

"Like I said before, why would he? There's no reason he would do anything to Hawke. And you see how he's been handling this. He can fake it when he has to, but he's not that good an actor."

"Whoever really took her may be trying to frame him, throw us off track," she offers.

"Or maybe he's just that stupid," Fenris grumbles.

"Let's hope we get something from this trip. I"m actually starting to worry," Varric sighs.

Isabela raises her eyebrows. "You mean all this nagging and groaning you've been doing for the past few days isn't 'worry'? Could have fooled me."

They head on to the Gallows in silence.

* * *

Author's Note: I'm never one to catch a subtle hint, really, but when Anders started acting strange after his companion quest in Act 3, I was very concerned. Wearing all black, giving valued possessions away, loosing all his humor and good cheer, all signs of someone contemplating suicide. So friendly reminder that Anders fully expected to die for his actions. *hoarse sobbing*

Anyway, still going strong at Chapter 15 with more to come! Shoutout to Avatarfan444: I thought general interest in this story was starting to wane until I saw your reviews! Thank you so much! I think the whole point of the game was despite their differences, vast as they are, all of Hawke's friends sort of became their own family. You may not always get along with your family, but you work together when it comes down to it. Fenris and Anders are actually very similar characters. I think, at the very least, they would have a lot of respect for each other.

Reviews are deeply appreciated, honestly. I'm writing this one for you guys, so let me know what ideas you have, and what you'd like to see!

Soon to come: Hawke arrives in Minrathous! Danarius is the human embodiment of a used condom! I cry when I think about Fenris! And Anders! Stay tuned!


	16. Chapter 16

.xvi.

For all the time she'd spent in the hold of that damn ship, she'd forgotten how big and bright and loud the world was.

Arriving in Minrathous is unbridled chaos compared to the deafening quiet she had become accustomed to. Noise everywhere, senses that had atrophied being strained to deal with the overload. So many people talking all at once, all pressing on her. Danarius leads her like a dog by her chain. Initially surprising, no one bats an eye, though distantly, she remembers what Fenris had told her once, how Danarius had collared him as well, like the saarebas of the Qunari.

"What do you think, my little bird? Such a beautiful city, isn't it?"

A difficult question. It is a beautiful city, though significantly besmirched by the slaves walking at the heels of their masters as if it is perfectly normal. And there is so much to take in, the ebb and flow of passers through in the port, talking and yelling and some even laughing. Several children play some game with a wooden hoop and a stick, crying out when they are successful in keeping it balanced. The bright sunlight and open air, and the dry warmth is slightly reminiscent of Ferelden in the height of summer. However, she manages some mumble of assent, pleasing enough to Danarius.

"Nothing like Kirkwall, drab gray city that it is."

Her heart lurches at the mention of it. She wonders what they're all doing. Are they at the Hanged Man, staring at her letter with confusion and hurt? Have they even noticed how long she's been gone? How long has it been? Weeks?

Pulled from her thoughts by a shout, she turns to watch what she can only assume to be a magister rushes forward, visage furious.

"You coward, I was wondering when you'd come crawling back," he drawls haughtily, coming to stand just paces away. He is accompanied by two weary looking elves, who cast glances at her, faces impassive.

"Primus," Danarius greets, lips stretching into a semblance of a smile. "Delightful, as always. One wonders how you've managed to keep that supercilious tongue in your mouth in the time I've been away."

"I will choke you with your own venom," the other magister spits. His blonde hair catches the sunlight as he moves, circling them. His threats are met with unconcerned laughter.

"Step back, my little bird," Danarius waves her away, giving her the end of the chain to hold for herself. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

She complies, grudgingly, taking a few steps back, crossing her arms, brows lowered, as she watches the two mages walking, slow steady matched movements, like a dance.

"Magister Danarius," Primus announces, conjuring ice to his fingers. Snow flakes spin around his body as the magic build upon itself, despite the heat of the day. "I challenge you to a duel."

"To first blood?" Danarius is grinning, unseen force magic shifting the pressure all around them.

"To the death."

"How intrepid you've become. Almost threatening."

Primus launches a massive frost projectile straight at him, all power and no grace. Danarius spins out of reach, and it flies out over the water and lands with a loud, attention grabbing splash. Anyone who wasn't watching the duel is now, gathering around, eyes wide and hungry for carnage.

"You think you can get away with what you did?" Primus screams, over the strange, sound warping effects of Danarius force blast. He manages to block it as he yells, but a good part of the crowd behind him stumbles. This doesn't deter them from watching, though.

"I loved her! You had no right!" He's lobbing shard after shard of ice, without aim, blinded by his anger. She side steps a wayward shard of ice, listening to it crash into the hull of a ship floating in the docks. What is it that Danarius has done to this young man?

"I assume you're referring to that little red headed elven strumpet? Has no one ever told you it's foolish to dally with a woman that belongs to another?"

"I was going to free her! We were going to leave this horrible place! And you knew that, you monstrous. Murdering. Bastard!" He punctuates each word with fire, now, hurling them with all his force at Danarius, who hasn't even broken a sweat.

"You are a magister, Primus. She was but an ill-fated lust." Her blood boils at his cold, prideful words. She finds herself wishing that Primus pull it together and tear him apart.

"I'll kill you!" the blond mage finally flings himself at his opponent, heedless of the danger. His carelessness cripples him as Danarius flicks his wrist, drawing rock from the cobblestone streets, freezing the other in his tracks. Then he unhitches his staff, approaching the trapped man with a predatory, self satisfied grin.

"No, no I don't think you will." He raises his staff to the man's chest, slicing the robes part, pressing the blade against his chest.

"Wait!" she yells, jumping forward, past Primus' elven companions, who look a lot less blasé then they had moment ago. Surprisingly enough, he listens, turning his head to her, but never taking his eyes off of paralyzed man, who looks like he is trying to keep a brave face in the wake of death.

"I don't very much appreciate interruptions, my little bird." His tone is a warning. "Is there something you need?"

It's stupid, she knows it. She can almost feel Aveline's disapproving stare at her back, or here Isabela's irritated snort (really Hawke? Do you even know how to walk away from someone in peril? Is it physically possible or is your hero complex too strong to resist?) If only Aveline or Isabela were here, or any of them.

She takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "Do you have to kill him? Is there no way to settle this peacefully?"

The blonde, Primus, looks at her with confusion, as if he'd just noticed her presence.

"Why do you care for his life?" he asks after a pause, blade still poised over the man's exertion reddened skin.

"Never any easy questions, are there?" she mumbles, with a frown. "This doesn't have to end in bloodshed, does it? It would not paint you in a very clement light." She watches his face, changing subtly as she speaks.

"You forget that my reputation is not built on 'clemency'."

She dips her head respectfully, though lacking true respect. "As they say, to err is human, to forgive is divine." He looks unconvinced. She falls back on her last tactic. "I humbly ask that you reconsider killing this man, master. " She grits the last word out.

They both stare at her with varying levels of confusion. Danarius, however, grins with genuine pleasure, undoubtedly at her use of his proper title.

"You're compassion again amuses and impresses me, little bird. Very well," he draws back his staff and sets it on his back. "I will allow him to live."

The crowd murmurs with shock. Hawke manages not to gasp. She hadn't actually expected that to work.

"You'll- you're letting me live?" Primus stammers, dropping to the ground as the earthen restraints on him let go. "Why? Because your 'strumpet' asked nicely?" He sneers. She bites down the urge to tell him to quit while he's ahead.

"Perhaps. Regardless of the reason, you should escape with your life and what little dignity you have before I change my mind." This seems to be shock enough, Primus stands, pulling his robes closed. He spares a look in her direction, his expression unreadable. And then he mouths, "Thank you," before turning and disappearing in the throng of spectators. They begin to cheer the drama being enough to entertain them in the stead of cold blooded murder, and Danarius soaks it up.

He takes up her chain again and motions for him to walk with her, no longer at his back, but as his side, through the streets.

"Why _did_ you spare him?" she finally asks. The question is bothering her. All she knows of Danarius is the horrible brutality Fenris had revealed to her, piece by piece as he had come to trust her, a feat given his past. It is hard to reconcile what she knows of the man who walks with her now, leading her through the streets of Minrathous on a chain like a dog, yet, who had spared the life of a man at her behest.

"I'm sure my little wolf has made me out to be a horrible person, has he not?" She cocks and eyebrow. The answer is fairly obvious.

"I am not so terrible as he might have led you to believe."

Her first instinct is to express her doubt, but again she questions what she knows. Perhaps... No. This man is a monster. She knows that. There is nothing he can do or say to dissuade her from the knowledge, not after what he had done. She had seen the pain he had pointlessly, cruelly inflicted upon Fenris. She had experienced first hand the devastation this man had caused.

"You'll understand if I have trouble believing that." He smiles, eyes scanning the streets as they walk. Several stop to bow reverently.

"More and more I find myself gladdened that I took you up on your offer. It has been a very long time since I had companionship so intrepid as to speak their minds."

She resists the urge to remind him that his companionship probably is comprised solely of those hoping to appease him, and those with no choice, but she refrains. "Primus looked very ready to speak his mind. What did you do that angered him so much that he was willing to risk his life to confront you in the street?"

"Duels are common in this country, you know that. Many are simple peacocking, shows of magical prowess. Others are for revenge, and others for lesser reasons still."

"I'm assuming that one was 'revenge'."

"Right you are, little bird. I'm sorry to say that an elven slave he had been hoping to purchase died during a ritual I had been preforming. Such a tragedy," he says in mock sorrow. "He was quite taken with her. It was for the better. He is not from here, originally, so he does not understand how things must be." Belatedly, she realizes that must be why he had been speaking Common and not Tevene.

Terrible is the realization that follows: "You killed her on purpose." When he turns an eye to her and the corners of his motuh tilt up conspiratorially, she can't help but viscerally retract from him. He yanks her back with the chain, tightening the slack, and gives no answer.

Grudgingly, she stumbles forward, as he hums in contentment.

* * *

Author's Note: Have I mentioned how much I hate Danarius yet? Yes? Well let me say it again I hate this guy so much when I finally encountered him in Fenris' final companion quest I reloaded just to have the pleasure of beating him down twice. And his death felt so anticlimactic, something I hope to resolve in this story.

Annemarie01: I actually haven't played Awakening myself. I'm watched some bits of it, and I really loved Anders' characterization in it. I'm hoping to play it soon, though! I really love Anders. And thank you! I considered making Varric call her by a bunch of different nicknames, because of the banter they have, but I might have to stick with that one:)

LostSpace: welcome to the party! I promise the gang will get their act together and figure out what happened.

Avatarfan444: That is an excellent idea, goodness gracious! I'm glad you're liking the story! I like to write/play my Hawkes as mild jerks with hearts of gold, always with a strong personality. When I try any other characterization, it's interesting, but it's just not as satisfying.

Amylianna: Oh, Anders and his Tevinter garb are going to play a role in this, I assure you;) Specifically the ones with open chests.

MC: 3 You flatterer, you:)

Soon to come: Hawke and Danarius arrive at his estate! A new character is introduced! I think I need a bath, do you think I need a bath? Stick around!


	17. Chapter 17

.xvii.

Master is returning.

The estate is a flurry of activity. Alba stands above it all, upon the balcony, watching. All is progressing well. Barring and unforeseen hitches in the preparation of the mansion, all is ready in time for his arrival.

She descends the stairs, making her way to his quarters a final time to ensure all is as it should be. He had sent word ahead to prepare for a new slave. As she read his brusque alert to the other slaves, her heart dropped. Not Fenris, she'd hoped. Even after all the years since he had escaped, he was still a legend to the others. But she had known him before he had become the ruthless, obedient warrior Master had transformed him into. It had been hard enough to watch him go from the spirited, strong young man he had been before Danarius's ritual, burning lyrium in to his bronze skin, to empty vessel he had become. And when she'd next seen him, his hair was no longer black like ravens wings but snowy white, matching the white lines that ran, pulsing blue over the expanse of his arms and neck. Worst of all, his customary ebullience was gone, replaced with unquestioning servitude. Emptiness, as if all he was had been scooped out like melon rind. It had been a terrible, terrifying thing to witness. She imagined it was akin to the 'Tranquility' that mages in other countries had to undergo, in some cases. It was a fate she would not wish on anyone.

Another slave girl, a new elven one she is not completely familiar with yet rushes by, stumbling under her own anxiety. Under her eyes are heavy dark circles and her mouth is perpetually drawn into a frown, concerned and scared. She dips in a quick curtsy, awaiting orders. She makes sure to send the girl somewhere where she will not be harassed too much.

"They're h-h-here!" Balazs whispers, gesturing meekly from his perch at the window. Already he is quaking in the fear that Master inspires in him. Upon his face still lie the scars from when he had been beaten so badly that he laid unconscious for a week, and when he had woken, rare were the times when he was able to utter a sentence without stammering.

All she can do now is glance around the grand foyer one last time. All looks to be in order. She hopes it is, if it not, and Master is in an unkindly mood after all of his travel... Brushing the thoughts away, she goes to stand by the staircase, hands folded behind her back, and head bowed.

The door creaks open, and anxiety presses down on her lungs.

"Home, sweet home," a familiar voice says with flourish, brushing through the doorway, hot, dry air wafting in behind him. She dares a glance. Indeed it is Master and the one who must be the new slave spoken of, thankfully not who she feared it would be. Strange that he would see to escort her personally. The girl, no, woman walks just a few paces behind him, arms crossed, face guarded, but curious as she looks around eyes wide. Around her neck is one of Master's collars, and he holds her chain.

"Salutem, Dominus meus," she says with a deep curtsy. When she draws herself back up, she's noticed the new slave woman has tensed, looking at her like one looks at a person they might know. Alba herself does not recognize her, though. Her skin is warm brown, and hair as dark and lustrous as her eyes. She is wearing the robes of a battle mage. She does not break the gaze once, but rather keeps her eyes and chin up. She is obviously not a slave by birth.

"Alba, you've seen to it all is as I would have it?" Danarius draws her attention away form the slave, who is still looking at her, brows furrowed. She nods. It is odd that he is speaking Common. Perhaps it is for the benefit of his new slave.

"Yes, Master. I am glad to see you've returned." She answers in Common to the best of her abilities.

"Thank you. This," he turns to the girl in the collar, pulling her chain to usher her ahead, "is..." he looks her up and down smugly, hunger in his eyes, "Ava."

"Ava?" the woman echoes, face contorting in confusion, turning to look at him. "My name is-"

He grabs her by the collar, yanking her up off the ground to meet his eyes. She is a head shorter than he, and her feet scrabble for purchase where there is none to be had, fighting his grasp. "Ava," he repeats, dragging out the word, his face turning to hers with a serpentine movement.

He allows her to hang for several moments, face reddening, eyes squeezed shut, feet kicking at empty air, and Alba feels for the girl. She knows what it is to earn the Master's displeasure, but she knows it would only make it worse to interfere, so she watches quietly, trying to think of more pleasant things. When he finally drops her, she drops to her knees on the marble floor, drawing in precious air with heaving breaths, shoulders bent. But she does look back up at Danarius, with a glint in her eye and a set to her jaw, a look she knows so well, one Balazs used to wear before...

"Ava," Danarius speaks again, chiding her and defining her all at once.

"Ava," she affirms with gritted teeth, after a long silence, turning her eyes away.

This woman is strong. It will take a long time to break her in the way the Master wills. It is shameful to think, but she hopes that the Master will ignore her and Balazs now that he has something else to pay attention to.

"Ava, this is Alba. She oversees the household, and ensures that all proceeds as it should."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Ava says with surprising respect, drawing herself to her feet and holding out her hand, though still avoiding Master's gaze. She looks questioningly at the dark haired woman, and then at Danarius, who chuckles in response.

"She means to shake your hand, Alba," he explains, and while his amusement is only slightly better than his wrath, she is glad that he is no longer choking anyone.

"That is not permitted, Master," she ducks her head, hoping that her answer was correct.

"I will allow it, for our new foreign companion." She's not sure if that's permission, or if it's all a trick.

"I-" her hesitation is the wrong move. His face darkens, and he slaps her, sending her reeling backwards, marble stairs jabbing into her bony back as she falls.

"I gave you an order," he says, towering over her, voice cold.

"My mistake," Ava interjects, bodily throwing herself in between them. She holds out her arms, facing Danarius. "It's not her fault, she didn't know. How do you greet new acquaintances in Tevinter? A kiss on the cheek? No, that's Orlais-" He slaps her too, with far more force, and she staggers under the unexpected blow.

"I have allowed enough of your interruptions for one day, whereas once they were amusing, I now grow tired of them." Ava stumbles back in front of her, holding out her arms, shaking her head slightly, not daring to meet his eyes. "Alright, my mistake again. Just- please. Leave her alone. Master." She dips her head as she makes the request, with a strong jawed defiance. Alba is amazed. She has never seen any slave act with this level of courage to the Master, not since Balazs, and it showed what that got him. Foreign indeed!

"The journey has been a long one," Danarius says, letting his hand fall back to his side. "I feel my good spirits waning. Alba, I am retiring to my room. See to it that she is properly taken care of. I want her at evening meal. Understood?"

She nods quickly, standing again, to move out of Master's way. He ascends the shining stairs and disappears.

"Blighted, humorless bastard," mumbles Ava after a beat, rubbing her swelling, livid cheek. Her eye is already darkening with the force of the impact.

"I will get you something for your face," Alba says, her voice so very quiet compared to this woman's, she notices, but she's stopped with a little wave.

"No need, I think I can..." She squints, her fingers curling as blue healing magic flickers in her palm. It isn't much, nothing like the incredible spells Master weaves, but it is enough, and the bruise fades.

"You are a mage!" she breathes, her outlandish attire suddenly making sense. How is it that Master has acquired another mage, like himself, to be his slave? The woman shrugs, rolling her neck in the collar, wincing at the metal digging into her skin.

"Yes, I am. And..." she looks up the stairs, eyes scanning the empty air, "My real name is Hawke. Pleased to meet you." She offers her hand again with a smile. Alba backs away.

"Did I say something wrong? I'd use Tevene but," she laughs a little, shaking her head, "I only ever learned the bad words."

"You are a slave? Not an apprentice?" She remembers the beautiful and cruel Hadriana. Is this woman, who has done nothing but smile, and even protected her from Master's wrath, supposed to fill that role?

"Slave," she confirms. "Long story. Not a very good one, thus far, I must admit."

"That does not make sense."

"Like I said, long story. Alba was it? Sorry about that, earlier. Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" Her back twinges when she breathes in too much, but aside from that, she is fine. Things could have been much worse, considering. She shakes her head. Odd that this Ava-Hawke would ask after her health. Stranger still that she would risk herself in the way that she had.

"Well, that's good. I'll endeavor not to throw you under the wheels again, though you can never tell which way the wind is blowing with that one. Now, is there a bath here? I am in desperate need of one."

Alba is completely and utterly confused by this mage woman, dressed like the arcane warriors of old, serving as a slave, serious and brave one moment, and laughing with ease in the next. She regrets that such a person should be stuck under service to a man such as the Master. Her laughter will not last long.

She leads the strange woman to the baths, listening to her comment scathingly on the 'gaudy décor'.

* * *

Author's Note: Another chapter for my wonderful readers. Have I told you guys lately how great you are? It's something that should be oft reiterated. I liked writing this one a lot, though the two things in this story I've been agonizing over are the time span in which this would have to take place to be canon, but still be realistic (in terms of travel and what have you), and the language barriers. I figured it was pretty safe to let most slaves have a basic understanding and grasp of Common. If you disagree, please let me know!

Nezumi: That is exactly how I feel about him. He's going to get what's coming to him, just you wait. With any luck, it will be far more satisfying than what the game gave us.

Avatarfan444: Thank you! I actually wrote the greater portion of this story in advance so I could get a chapter up at least once every two days. I hate waiting long for updates, it can really break up the flow of a good story. I'm really glad you guys all hate Danarius with a passion. Must mean I'm doing something right!

MC: I can't even convey in words how spastic your reviews make me. My head is actually swelling up right now with the inflation of my ego...

Soon to come: The merry band is getting very close to the answer of Hawke's disappearance. Tempers flare, fists fly, and Tevinter better watch out! Stick around!


	18. Chapter 18

.xviii.

"I've got news," Varric announces. The chatter in the room halts abruptly, and Fenris digs his fingers into the wood of his chair, resisting the urge to scream at the dwarf to just spit it out. Isabela snorts, but even she can't hide her concern. "Is it finally the good kind?"

"No, don't I wish. But it's news all the same. A few contacts came through with things they've been hearing over the last few weeks. And, from what I've gathered," he pauses, taking a deep breath, "It seems like a slaving ring from Tevinter has been inquiring about her."

His blood runs ice cold, mind fumbling over the words.

Tevinter slavers. Hawke.

"You're not saying what I really hope you're not saying, are you Varric?" Aveline questions, pushing off the wall and setting her hands on her hips. "I really hope this is an elaborate joke."

"Wouldn't that require it being funny?" Merrill asks, an atypical tinge of sarcasm in her voice.

"It's not. I think Hawke was led out by a slaving ring that operates covertly in the Free Marches, kidnapping and transporting people off to the Imperium, Which means-"

"That would explain the letter that we received," Aveline says. "No one will come after her if they don't know that's she's actually in peril."

"Hawke is in Tevinter? As a slave?" Sebastian says, righteous fire lighting his eyes. "But why? Why would slavers take her of all people? She's the Champion of Kirkwall! People are bound to notice her disappearance. They had to have planned this."

"Or someone paid them to do it," Anders says soberly.

Fenris is still struggling under the words. Hawke, damned to his fate, to the life he once lived. To the torment and humiliation. The corruption and evil of the place will destroy her good heart. She is strong, but not the kind of strong required to survive such a life.

"At least it's not Templars," Anders murmurs, and suddenly the world comes crashing down on his in stark relief. Rage boils under his skin and he launches at the smug mage, who never sees the blow coming. He swings without truly aiming. Without really meaning to maim. Not too bad, anyway. He can't imagine what Hawke would do to him if she saw him now. Hawke. Hawke.

"Fenris, Fenris!" He is dimly aware of someone calling his name, but he keeps slamming his fists into Anders' face and chest. Beneath him, the man struggles, trying to shield his face and strike back at the same time. Blood bursts from a split lip, streaming down his chin, and a closed-fisted blow from the man pinned beneath him momentarily blurs his vision. Roughly, hands yank him back, but he keeps swinging.

"Fenris!" Aveline shouts, her face appearing in front of his. "Stop this, right now. You think this is going to help things?" Her damnable logic gives him pause, if only for a moment. Long enough for Anders to throw his full body weight forward, slamming him jarringly into one of Varric's bookshelves, landing a few painful blows. It takes Varric, Aveline and Sebastian to separate them. The three hold him back while Merrill throws a glyph down on the wooden planks of Varric's suite, restraining the blonde mage.

"Never a dull moment," Isabela observes, still in her seat despite the scuffle. She drinks her ale while everyone else stands, tense and ready for round two.

"If you two can't handle yourselves then you can leave and let the adults take care of this," Aveline says, frustrated evident in her tone

Neither reply, allowing silence to be unwilling consent.

"Great, now that's we've got that out of our systems, I'll finish what I was saying." Varric gives him a look, one he ignores, but the dwarf steps away from him, righting his toppled chair as he speaks. "I can't confirm it, not yet, but this looks like the case."

Fenris sits back down, teeth gritted, staring at the wall, vision still unfocused from the astonishingly powerful blow.

"But you've got that look you get when you come up with a good plan," Merrill points out, sounding hopeful.

"Good eyes, Daisy." She smiles at him. "Yes, I've got a plan, so don't give up hope."

"Does this plan include burning Tevinter to the ground?" Sebastian grits out, "Might be the only solution."

"I agree," Fenris spits. Behind him, Aveline sighs quietly. He notices the mage stays wisely silent about the matter.

"No burning. We are severely outnumbered for that kind of attack."

"I think he was joking," Merrill tells him. Sebastian smirks. "Only a little."

"If we're going to find her, we're going to have to take the espionage approach."

"What do you mean, 'espionage'?" Anders frowns, touching two fingers to his split lip.

"Exactly what is sounds like. I think can arrange a meeting with a representative from the same ring that was asking about Hawke, the one that probably took her. With any luck, we'll be able to pry some information from them. But we can't walk in as we are."

"We are rather recognizable, I imagine. Hawke never met a slaver she liked and let live to tell the tale." Aveline does not sound like she minds this all.

"Right. So, we send in two people to talk, and the rest can hang back, in case things get messy, as they often do."

The mage lets his hand fall, all traces of injury gone, unfortunately. "And these two will be in disguise?"

"Exactly, Blondie. The question is, who wants to volunteer?"

"I will." Anders doesn't even pause. "I'm not a very well known face, am I?"

"I suppose not," Varric shrugs. "Then one more."

"How about Fenris?" Isabela volunteers for him. He had been considering offering, but in all likelihood he would be spotted from a mile away.

"You know he glows in the dark when he gets mad, Rivaini?" Varric asks, brows cocked. "Not exactly my first choice." She laughs.

"Only from hearsay, unfortunately." She winks at him, and he pointedly ignores her. Surprisingly, though, her easy manner is calming him, somewhat. If she's still blithely laughing, then things can't be too dire. "But that might actually be a good thing. We can set it up to look like Anders is someone hoping to collect a reward for finding a fugitive slave." His skin prickles at her description, but her suggestion is a useful one.

"You think that they'd buy that? Blondie, no offense, but you aren't that good of a liar."

"That's why you're terrible at Wicked Grace," Isabela laughs. "No bluffing abilities."

"That you know of," Anders retorts indignantly. "I can do it."

Now his skin is crawling.

"And I am to play the captured slave?" he all but growls. Aveline crosses her arms. "I'm not wild about it, myself, but it seems like a pretty good plan, considering nothing else has been offered. And I'm not sure Merrill would be convincing enough, she's very obviously Dalish."

"Are we really willing to risk letting these slavers get this close to Fenris, though?" Merrill asks.

"You assume they will walk away from the confrontation," he sneers.

He detests the idea. It is only a ruse, but it is stomach turning nonetheless. However, for Hawke... her smile flashes briefly in his mind, vibrant and warm. He knows she would not give a second thought were she in his position. He acquiesces. "Very well. This seems our only choice. What do we do?"

"I'll make the arrangements." Varric states. "Back here tomorrow, same time. Anyone have any idea where we can get some Tevinter magister garb?"

"I've got something, actually," Anders volunteers, raising his hand a little. Varric casts him a look, unspoken question lingering. He shrugs. "What? It was a gift from a friend."

"How surprising," Fenris snorts, feeling the dried blood smeared across his face crumbling with the force of his sneer. The mage ignores him.

"What can we do while we wait to enact this plan?" Sebastian asks, standing.

"Pick a rendezvous point and scout it out," Aveline suggests. He is eager to get on with it, tomorrow seems too far away, too long to wait, not while Hawke's life hangs in the balance.

"Yes. I will go with you," he more tells than offers, tip of his great sword scraping along the wooden floor as he stands. Anything to be away from the mage, at this point, and he is need of something to hit.

"Not wise," Isabela sing songs. "What you should do," she begins, rising from her seat and leaning close to his bruised face, "is come with me. That tussle was actually a good idea. We can make it look like he messed you up a bit. To be more convincing. I can make you look like you've gone through the wringer."

"Oh, so is that the look you're going for with your makeup?" Aveline prods, hint of a smirk on her face. The pirate laughs. "Well, I guarantee, it's much better than what you've achieved. 'Celibate bag lady', would you call it?"

"Shut up."

"A good idea." Aveline shoots Sebastian a dangerous look and he backpedals. "We'll need every edge we can get. I can help, if you need it."

"You know about costume makeup?" Isabela asks, equally surprised and amused.

"Choir Boy, just when I thought I had you all figured out..." Varric grins.

"No-it's-no! Nothing like that!" A blush rises to the Chantry brother's cheeks. "I-some of the sisters taught me some things..." he trails off as six pairs of disbelieving eyes appraise him. "Never mind. You have my aid should you need it."

"Oh I most definitely will."

"Merrill," Aveline speaks and Sebastian and Isabela leave the suite, in search of cosmetics no doubt, "I'd like to have you along, when we check the meeting point."

"Me?" The girl is very obviously surprised by the request.

"Yes. I would like if you were there to help me deal with any magical problems we may encounter."

"Of course!" Merrill looks all too happy to comply.

"So that leaves the three of us." Varric looks pointedly at him, and then at Anders, who is already making for the door on the heels of Aveline and Merrill.

"Count that as two. I'm going to go get my disguise together." And then he is mercifully gone.

"So, Broody..."

"Yes, I'm fine, no, I don't want to talk about it."

"You know me so well. Not very convincing, though, with that whole fist fighting Blondie thing." He snorts. The mage had it coming, really. "Well, what if I'm not fine and I do want to talk about it?"

"Is that the case?"

He expects more jokes, but is met with honesty. "I'm worried. I've lived in Kirkwall all my life, so I don't know anything about what it's like in Tevinter for a slave, outside of things I've read, and all the lovely stories you've had to share." He sneers. 'Lovely'. How laughable. "I know it can't be good, though. And Hawke is a pretty young lady with more compassion than is probably healthy, for her anyway."

"Do you want me to tell you she'll be fine?"

"I want you to tell me the truth. Do you think she's going to-" he stumbles. "Do you think she'll last for as long as it takes for us to find her?"

That is a difficult question. So far, all they have is suspicions. Something deep within the core of his being tells him that they're on the right trail. Even so, it is still hard to answer. More difficult still is trying to predict what she will be facing. Some masters are kinder than others.

"I don't know," he answers as truthfully as he can, after a beat, "but she is a strong woman."

"Well, not exactly comforting, but you did your best." Varric slaps him on the back amiably, heading for the door, as Sebastian and Isabela return, arms full of boxes.

"Have fun with the makeover, kids!"

The Rivaini woman looks too pleased at his discomfort as she stalks toward him, wielding a brush.

* * *

Author's Note: Finally! The team is on the hunt! And as you all know, they are on the right path. Ah, and of course, Anders and Fenris had to do something with that long standing animosity/jealousy. Promise you guys they won't be warring with each other for much longer, I hate it when they fight.

Amylianna: Oh yes, Hawke very much wants to beat him to a bloody pulp. Unfortunately, not only is she uncapable of that at the moment, but she's also too honorable to break her word. That is unless someone else breaks first...

Tanith's crazy twin: Yes, I've always loved how Dragon Age doesn't just give you allies, but friends and family as well. Now I expect that from every game I play!

Avatarfan444: Learned helplessness is the perfect description! Well, technically it's more like taught helplessness, as slaves are taught to be subservient and never question their masters. Slavery is a terrible, inhumane thing. I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

In our next installment: Hawke dearly missed Kirkwall and all of her friends. However, she learns a little about Fenris before the lyrium brands. Keep leaving those priceless reviews, follows and favorites and stay tuned!


	19. Chapter 19

.xix.

A massive crack of thunder wakes Hawke from her sleep.

It takes several disconcerting moments to ascertain where she is the complete darkness. Outside, a storm rages, far more intense than the ones in Ferelden that came in late spring, ushering in the summer heat. And it is close. When she remembers where she is and why she is there, she watches for the bright flash of light, and counts for the thunder, noting that the time in the between the two is quickly shortening. Then she tries to create her own lightning, paltry bolts, if they can even be called that, arcing weakly between her fingers. She can feel the magic in herself, she simply cannot reach it. It's a frustrating feeling. She thinks back to childhood, hiding from Templars in yet another small farming town, willing herself not to perform a single feat of magic. She was to blame for the last move, when she had set a boy's shirt on fire for bullying Carver. Nobody had seemed to appreciate the gesture; not the bully (who ran into the lake and then had to be rescued, as he could not swim), or Carver (who had insisted he would have been able to deal with it himself), nor her parents (who then quickly arranged to leave the city by nightfall when the boys parents began to question how this fire had been started).

After that event, she told herself she would not use magic again, not unseat her family and risk their safety again. She had managed to last a full week before magic poured out of her uncontrollably one night at dinner, sharp hoar frost engulfing the table, and their meals. Her father had laughed, he always laughed, no matter the situation, he could find the comedy in it, and told her that it was unwise for mages to pent up their power like that. That it was unwise to keep anything pent up, because eventually, it would all come tumbling out when you least wanted it to.

Thinking of the past, of her family, brings unbidden emotion to the surface and she tries to fight it. 'Father was right,' she thinks, and no longer can she hold back her grief. Sobs escape her throat, strangled, and thankfully muted under the din of the massive storm. Each thunderclap shakes the small, closet sized room around her as she weeps, the curtain that serves for some semblance of a door twitching with the force of the vibrations. She does not mean to, she has always heard that crying when you're upset will make you feel better, but that has never been the case for her. It always makes her feel worse, pathetic and weak, so she covers her sadness with laughter and foolish jokes. But now there's no one around to laugh with, so she cries, truly terrified and alone. She is ashamed when, for a moment, she wishes she had not made the deal with Danarius. It is only for a moment though, and when it has passed, she knows it was necessary. And if given the option, she would make the same choice now. There is very little she would not do to protect them. Her friends. Her family.

She is past her tears and contemplating how long she will be able to endure the life she has now earned herself, if it is as truly as terrible as she has come to believe it is from the small bits of information she has gleaned from Fenris when he is particularity drunk or willing to share, when she sees movement at the door. She holds completely still, back pressed so flush against the wall that she can feel the stone grating against her spine. Dread settles upon her ribs like tar, thick and restrictive, making it hard to draw breathe. She readies herself to fight, even though she is mostly powerless. 'Maker please, don't let it be that monster.' Being alone in his presence is so very disquieting, a constant threat.

"Ava."

Thank the Maker, it is not who she thought it would be. The fear disappears, replaced with curiosity. She is quick to wipe away the tear tracks on her face.

"Alba?" she whispers back, squinting into the darkness. "What are you doing here?"

"I don't know," the petite elven woman answers after a moment, sounding like a scolded child. "I thought you might be afraid of the storm, but then I remembered how you defended me in front of the Master..."

"Well, it is a pretty big storm,'" she smiles, offering a seat at the end of her small cot to the woman, who comes to perch beside her. They sit in silence for a while, watching the storm roll closer Hawke takes the opportunity to really study the woman. Her straw colored hair is hangs close in a short bob, surrounding her pallid face. She looks tired.

"I am also confused by you," Alba admits. Her attention is drawn away from the mysterious necklace as the woman continues to speak. "Human slaves are not as common as elven, but there are some. But you are not just a human. You have magic, and when you came here, you were dressed like a mage warrior. I think you could easily escape here, if you wished, but you do not. Why are you here, Ava? You said your story was a long one."

"Would you believe me if I told you I lost a bet?" The elven woman looks at her uncomprehendingly.

"Just a joke. I-ah-well. Damn, where do I start?" she picks at a loose string on the end of her thin, threadbare blanket. "I have a friend, one who used to," she forces the words out, "used to belong to Danarius, but he escaped. Danarius was trying to use me to lure him into a trap, to recapture him, but I... offered myself in his place."

"Why?" Alba asks immediately, eyes widening. "Why did you not do as the Master willed and allow him to recapture-"

"Because that's wrong! This is wrong. Slavery is wrong. And he," her heart clenches painfully at the thought of him. "He has suffered enough. I would rather that I be here instead of he."

Alba looks surprised at her unusually serious outburst. "You said he used to be a slave to the Master? I have only ever known of one who escaped..."

"Fenris?" supplies Hawke.

"He is your friend?" Alba breathes. She looks as though she would have been more able to believe that the sky was pink or that birds flew backwards.

"You knew him? Before?"

"Before the Master took away his soul."

"Took away his soul," she echoes. "What do you mean by that?"

"He was not a slave to the Master before, he belonged to another," Alba explains, "but he fought many other warriors for a prize of his choosing. When he won, he gave himself to the Master, gave his soul to the Master, to free his family. And then he changed. After that, he was empty."

"He's not empty," she snaps, words harsher than she had meant, and the little woman beside her flinches. "I have angered you."

"No! No, not you. I'm sorry, my anger is not for you." The elven woman relaxes a little, but keeps her arms drawn about her. Hawke continues, eager to learn what she can. "What can you tell me about him, what he was like?"

"Before he was changed, he was much like you, like my brother Balazs. Always a smile for times of sorrow, always a laugh in great pain. I did not know him well, but he was kind to me. He was kind to everyone."

Words escape her. Just when she'd thought she'd worked the last of those tears out, bothersome things...

"I should leave you now, you need to rest. Tomorrow will be difficult, I think."

"I hope I don't get dish duty," she deadpans, hiding her desire to further question Alba about past Fenris.

"You will probably be assisting Master in his rituals and studies. He is..." she pauses, looking unsure if she should continue, "...especially cruel to new slaves. He often uses them in rituals to test their resilience." That would explain what had happened to the slave Primus had been so angry over.

"Oh. Fantastic, everything I never wanted to know about blood magic and torture. Can't wait."

"Rest well, Hawke." Alba whispers her name, her true name, before dropping into another quick curtsy and flitting into the shadows. She watches the woman's retreating form, and dwells on what she's learned until sleep overtakes her.

* * *

Author's Note: Are you guys still with me? It's getting quiet in the reviews. Please tell me if I'm dragging this out too long, or boring you guys!

Avatarfan444: Oh, thank you! Yes, Anders was a bit blunt in the last chapter, but in his defense, he's under a lot of stress. The same to all of them, really. Thank you for all of your reviews!

Shoutout to all of my new followers and favorites! This is for you guys:)

Next chapter: a familiar face shows up! Misunderstandings! Jealousy! Romance! Stick around!


	20. Chapter 20

.xx.

Kirkwall hasn't changed. It's been years since he's visited, not many, but enough to make him think it may have mutated in some noticeable way in the time he had been gone away with the Wardens. Instead, he is met with the same foreboding chains, the same cobblestone streets, the same beggars and cut purses, the same people as before, some even greeting him by name.

"Carver!" Lady Elegant calls when he comes around the corner, face brightening. "How nice to see you. How have you been?"

"I am well, Lady Elegant, and glad to see you too."

"I have heard of your sister's disappearance." His face must give way to some sort of shock, and she quickly follows, "Word of the Champion travels quickly. She is well liked here."

"Of course she is," he sighs, choking down that all too familiar little sibling jealousy. He thought he had finally gotten over it. Apparently not.

"At any rate, I hope you find her soon. When you do, tell her she still owes me a drink."

"What for?" Carver can't help but ask. Usually it's Hawke finagling drinks out of others.

"For-" she stops herself, a cunning grin spreading over her face. "Oh, I don't think she would very much like me telling you that. Suffice it to say, I helped her with the flaming disaster that is her love life."

'Love life?!' He is still sputtering as he continues through the city, stopping at the small market place outside of the well-worn facade of the Hanged Man to browse rid himself of some of the odds and ends he's picked up on his way to the there, a habit he had undoubtedly inherited from his sister. His sister, who apparently has a love life? The thought bothers him deeply.

'It's that blasted elf, isn't it,' he fumes, as he waits for the weapons salesman to count out his coin. 'She was smitten with him immediately. Always Fenris this, Fenris that, oh look, he knows how to feed himself, how enchanting.' The shopkeeper spares him a wary glance, and Carver becomes aware of the fact that he must look half crazed, standing there in the middle of the market, simmering.

"Thank you," he mumbles, taking his money and leaving.

'He told her to shove off though, didn't he? Blighted bastard.' He remembers well how she had acted when the had ventured off to deal with the crazed Coterie when Corypheus was after them and their blood. She would stare at the stupid lanky elf when she thought he was looking, and he would watch her like she was the second coming of Andraste when her back was turned. Ridiculous. And he hadn't even figured out why until after, when they had returned to Kirkwall, and Varric had told him with all the hesitancy of one about to tell an Orlesian that their clothes were unsuited to the occasion. His sister is strong and smart and determined to do right by any and everyone, irritating about it, most of the time, but still his sister, and the thought of her being taken advantage of by anyone galls him. If the elf is responsible for her disappearance...

It's been only a few days since Gamlen sent him a letter to warn him, and surprisingly good luck that he had managed to receive it before his next venture into the Deep Roads. That man is usually useless, but it seems as if he's gotten better of late. He'd even mentioned something of a long lost cousin.

After a few seconds of deliberation, he makes for the tavern, noticing the interested glances of the women about town. That almost makes him forget what he was fuming about.

"Carver!" Corff calls, with the barest bit of appreciative inflection in his voice. "Long time no see. You owe me two sovereigns."

"I owed you two sovereigns last time I came in here," the Grey Warden responds, with a smirk, but he slaps the money on the counter and slides it to the barkeeper.

"Then stop drinking me out of business."

"I'll try," he laughs, shaking hands over the bar. "I'm looking for my sister's friends. Are they here?"

"Upstairs, first door, same as always. Heard about your sister by the way. Hope you find her soon."

"Me too. Thanks." With that, the barkeeper gives a final nod, and returns to his business while Carver turns and heads for the stairs, shouldering his way through the rowdy evening crowd.

The door to Varric's suite is closed, something he can't ever recall seeing. Inside, however, he can hear voices, low, furtive, and rough sounding. A voice he doesn't recognize rises over the others, "-still! Do you want me to poke your eyes out of your head? Because that's what's going to happen if you keep struggling."

Carver draws his sword, and creeps to the door, trying to hear what he can. More muted voices, and then one he knows well, Merrill.

"Oh, Fenris, you look next to death!"

That's all the confirmation he needs. Slamming the pommel of his sword into the handle of the door sends it flying open, and he bursts in, ready to attack. The scene he is greeted with gives him pause.

Merrill is the one he locates first, standing off to the side of a group of people, hands clasped over her mouth in shock. Beside her stands Isabela, perched over Fenris, who is sitting in a chair, and does indeed look like he's been beaten within an inch of his life. On the other side stands a man who looks familiar, but he cannot place the face at the moment, holding a palette of makeup. He doesn't very much look the cosmetician, dressed in white armor with a bow slung across his back. Across the room, Varric is holding Bianca at the ready, pointing her at him, confusion scrawled across his face. Aveline, too, has drawn her sword, stance defensive, but face uncomprehending.

"Carver?" Merrill asks, after they've all stared at each other for a sufficiently uncomfortable amount of time.

From a side room, someone bursts in with a flare of blue-white magic, and it takes a moment to realize that it is Anders, baring far more flesh than he would ever be comfortable seeing. He resists the urge to fling his gauntlet covered forearm over his eyes shielding him from the mage's exposed chest, which seems so much more lewd than it should with the robes that he's wearing.

"What's going on?" Anders asks, looking somehow deadly and ridiculous at the same time, then he too takes in the scene and standing baffled in the doorway, light fading.

"Carver?" he asks, eyebrows arching.

"That's what I said," Merrill smiles, the only one not looking at him like they're moments from murder.

"Didn't anyone every teach you how to knock, kid?" Varric asks, a tinge of genuine anger in his voice. "Maker's breath, I nearly put a bolt through your thick head!"

"I thought-" Carver begins, fumbling under the embarrassment of his hasty action. "I thought I heard trouble. The door was shut! You never shut the door! And who in the Void is this?" he demands, gesturing to the white armored archer, who glances around the room as if to ensure he is the one being referred to.

"I am Sebastian Vael, of Starkhaven " he answers, giving a bow. "I remember you. You're Hawke's younger brother."

"And why are you dressed like a prostitute from the Blooming Rose?!" he wheels on Anders, who covers his bare chest defensively. "My sister's missing and you're throwing a costume party?!"

"We're not, really!" Merrill denies, waving her hands, "I know it looks silly, but we're trying to help Hawke!"

"I won't even ask what it is you're trying to attempt here," he continues, casting a glance at Fenris, who is now standing, face stormy.

"Will you shut up?" Aveline hisses, sheathing her blade. "If you don't keep your voice down you could screw this up." He sheathes his blade as well, Varric replaces Bianca on his back, and Anders sets his staff against a wall.

"We found out that your sister may have been taken by slavers. We're preparing to meet with them in disguise, pretending to be a potential seller."

Gradually, his anger fades. "Oh."

"That's why we're getting an eyeful from Messere Magister over there," Isabela speaks up, grinning. "Who knew he was so muscular?"

"Would you quit it?" Anders hisses under his breath, crossing his arms and hunching over.

"Nice to see you, by the way," she adds, winking at him. "You want to help? More's the merrier."

"Of course I do. What kind of a question is that? What are we doing?"

Varric informs him of the plan and makes the necessary changes to ensure they can cover the field evenly.

"Glad to have you here, kid," the dwarf admits as everyone gathers their gear. Isabela is sharpening a small dagger for Merrill, speaking to her about how to properly use it, should any enemy get past her magical defenses.

"It's just not a party till there's a Hawke at the helm, right?" he asks with a bit of a laugh. Varric snorts. "Something like that. Well that and you hold your liquor better than your sister." Anders is still hunched over in the corner, frowning. Fenris is opposite him, doing much the same.

"Glad to see those two have gotten so much chummier since I left."

"They nearly tore each others' heads off the other day. It's been a lot of fun since she went missing. Like babysitting children."

"And it's been three weeks now?" he asks, brow furrowed.

"Just about. I have a good feeling about this meeting, though. I think they'll be able to tell us what we need to know."

"Let's hope."

"Daisy's real happy to see you," Varric mentions, and Carver looks over to her, only to find she is gazing at him. She blushes and turns away, taking a dagger from Isabela, as well as a reprimand for not paying attention.

"Huh, really?" He doesn't even notice the dwarf grinning at him, just the pretty blushing girl, who brushes her black hair behind her ear. Which he notes has gotten longer since he last saw her.

"We should go now," Aveline announces, over the Chantry bells. "It's time."

"It would have to be Darktown," Isabela laments as they all gather and leave the Hanged Man."I hate Darktown. Very unwelcoming."

"And yet I can't get you to keep away," Anders comments, adjusting his robes again.

"Must be what you've been hiding under all those feathers." Her flirtatious comments earn her a frown.

"We'll not be traveling all together. Sebastian and Isabela will go ahead, then Carver and Merrill. Fenris, Anders, you'll go in next, and I'll take up the flank with Varric."

"Everyone be cautious. If we don't do this right, we may loose the chance to track her."

"No pressure, though," Carver murmurs. Fenris hands him his great sword, and then after an approving nod, allows himself to be shackled by Aveline, who then hands the chain to a very uncomfortable looking Anders.

"Right then. Let's get this over with," he urges.

"Oh, you must be cold," Isabela laughs, drawing a finger over the mage's chest as she walks away.

He mumbles a curse.

Carver and Merrill break away from the group next, moving quickly through the streets to the Undercity. On the way, a pair of muggers apparently missed by Sebastian and Isabela attempt to jump them. He doesn't even get the chance to draw his sword by the time Merrill has firmly cemented them to a wall in a dark alley.

"That will make them think twice," she announces, continuing on her way.

"That was impressive," he comments, as they leave the would be robbers behind them, out of sight.

"Oh? Thank you! Hawke and I have been practicing different primal magic spells."

"I noticed you aren't...ah..."

"Not using blood magic anymore?" She doesn't mince words.

"Yes."

"I stopped when I realized that it did more to hinder than to help me. And my clan. Everyone really."

"I'm doubly impressed," he admits. "I worried about you messing around with that stuff." She smiles at him. And he feels a blush rising to his cheeks. "Ah, I just meant, you know, blood magic is dangerous. My father always told us it was bad. So, I'm glad you aren't using it anymore, because I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you." Damn it, why does he sound like such a blighted moron speaking to her?

To his surprise, she laughs, light and airy. "Thank you Carver. I didn't know you cared." He cringes at his own foolishness, but at least she isn't offended.

"Right. Well. We're almost there. Better keep it down," he warns, and she nods. They seamlessly move into the shadows, Merrill casting some illusory spell over them to better their camouflage. Across from them, he can see the pirate and the ex prince in their hiding spot, barely visible when looking for them, let alone if not. The two spot them, and Isabela gives them a thumbs up with a big smile. Soon after, Aveline and Varric take their place, forming a triangle around the open, abandoned corridor in the underground. Finally, Anders and Fenris approach, apparently talking. Or arguing.

"I hope they don't start fighting again," Merrill whispers.

"They won't," he assures her, "Or I'll kill them both."

All is agonizingly quiet for a few minutes. Merrill crouches beside him in the shadows, her arm pressed against his. He tries not to focus on her proximity, but instead on keeping an eye out. After quite a wait, a sign finally appears. A mage in thick, velvet robes steps into the clearing, in front of Anders and Fenris.

"As promised," Anders offers, tugging on the chain a little. Fenris growls, at him, and he wonders how much of this is acting.

"Oh, the bounty on this one is legendary, you know," the slaver mage speaks.

"I know. Couldn't believe how lucky I was to catch him. And, as I said, half the bounty is yours, for finders fee."

"You're very generous, serah," the slaver nods gratefully. Another, in armor steps forward, with a large sack of jingling sovereigns. "Are you ready to exchange?"

"Of course," Anders answered, looking deceptively calm about the whole transaction. He may not be over fond of the mage, but he knows the man would never do this. "The sooner I am rid of him, the better. You can see how troublesome he's been."

"That I can!" laughs the slaver. "I hope you haven't damaged the goods too much."

"Oh, nothing that can't be fixed." For a moment, Carver imagines what would happen if his sister were to show up at this moment. Hilarious and horrifying, all at once. That would be entertaining.

"Very well then, the money.' The robed slaver gestures for the other to bring forward the money for Anders to peruse.

"Tell me, this is the best catch you've ever had, right?"

"Maybe."

"Oh? What's the competition?"

The slaver looks at his silent companion with a grin. "Well, this is a secret, so don't go round letting it be known, but not too long ago, I captured the Champion of Kirkwall. Sold her to a magister for a great price. Best haul I've ever had with one slave."

"The Champion of Kirkwall? You've got to be joking. How'd you manage that?"

"Spiked an arrow with Magebane. She was down before the count of five."

"Magebane," Merrill echoes quietly, shaking her head. "Hawke would have never had a chance against that. But it's so difficult to acquire."

"That's incredible. Was it a bounty job?" Anders continues. The slaver holding the money is starting to look suspicious, checking over his shoulder, and nudging the other, who continues to brag to Anders.

"It was. A well known Magister said capture her and we could name our price."

"A well known Magister?" Anders asks. "Who wanted-"

"Enough questions," the other slaver demands, stepping forward and brandishing the money, hand hovering over his weapon.

"Yes," the slaver mage agrees, "it's time that you-urk!"

Both the slavers fall the the ground, torn apart savagely by Anders and Fenris' magic and bare hands, respectively, before the words can finish echoing off the cavernous walls of the Undercity.

"Here we go!" He can hear Varric calling out, sending volleys of explosive arrows into the approaching slavers, appearing as if out of thin air, sending body parts in every direction. He is joined by Sebastian, Anders, and Merrill, who all attack from the periphery of the battlefield.

"Someone needs a good spanking!" Isabela laughs, ducking and weaving in the throng of enemies. He jumps into the fray with Aveline and Fenris in the center of it all, tossing the elf his sword, and cutting the rest of the scum down with intense brutality. By the time they are finished, there is nothing left of their opponents but gored bodies, and everyone is covered in blood.

"That confirms it, then. You could have held off on killing them until we had more information, though," chides Aveline.

"They were starting to get suspicious. I didn't want to give them the advantage," Anders explains, removing his regular coat from his pack and throwing it on over the ridiculous robes.

"He's right," Fenris agrees, casting the manacles on the ground. "If we had given them more time, the more intelligent of the two might have sent for back up. As it is, we should probably leave now, before more come."

"Then let's not waste time," Carver adds, repressing the surprise he, and surely everyone else is undoubtedly experiencing at the two of them agreeing on anything, and they leave, keeping an eye for any strays.

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, I know it probably wasn't accurate, but I really, really wanted Anders to show up to this whole deal in those cut-away window robes from DA:O. Lifelong dream. I sincerly apologize.

Hope you guys are doing well! I'm spacing out my updates a little more so I don't flood your inboxes.

Sabrijela: Thank you so much for your review! I feel honored:D

Nezumi: Ah, I'm glad you're still here! Thank you very much!

shelby147: Thank you for saying so! You're encouragement is priceless:) I'm so glad you've been enjoying it!

In case I don't say it enough, I appreciate each and every single one of you.

Soon to come: Hawke doesn't get paid enough for this, honestly. Stay tuned!


	21. Chapter 21

.xxi.

Mist hangs heavily over the bleak, empty horizon of the darkened forest. Sickly trees twine their way up from the ground, like rotting fingers, grasping for the sky. The moon and stars are obscured by heavy clouds, roiling and black. Hawke walks amidst it all, barefoot, and nothing protecting her save for a simple shift and chemise. She fumbles at her back for her staff, but it is not there. She casts a spell of light, but the shadows devour it, leaving little to guide her. Still she walks, trying to find her way out of the forest. Behind her, noises begin to ring out: thunder in the distance, branches rustling, the snap of a twig underfoot.

"Who's there?" she calls with what she hopes is a commanding voice, and brings flames into being with her hands, crouching defensively. The fire does not even begin to permeate the darkness. No one, nothing answers. But still she hears the sounds. Something is approaching.

"Show yourself," she demands, sounding far more courageous than she feels.

"_Hawke."_

She turns, looking for the owner of the voice, and from the shadows comes a form she knows well.

"Anders!"

_"No," _it answers, _"Justice. How have you come to be in this place, Hawke? Mortals do not often travel this part of the Fade."_ He stares at her with scrutiny. _"You should not be here. Dark magic is abound in this place. Where are you?"_

His question make her think. Where is she? Why is it so hard to remember?

"I don't know," she answers, shaking her head in bewilderment. "I don't know, but but I think something is... wrong. Tell Anders, I need you to tell Anders-"

_"I am being cast from this place,"_ Justice interrupts, and it appears to be true, his form is flickering and fading like a dying flame.

"Tell him! Tell him- I think I'm in danger!" she yells, and Justice nods, calm and decisive.

_"Aid is coming for you, Hawke. Hold fast-"_ He disappears with the last word, leaving nothing in his stead, and then the world around her begins to shake and shift, growing darker if at all possible. The mossy ground beneath her bare feet cracks open and she plummets into the abyss.

"Ava."

She bolts up in bed, hands still clawing at the air, desperate to find purchase.

"Ava!" She realizes it's Alba and she stops fighting, breath coming in gasps, terror still coursing through her.

"You had a nightmare," the woman tells her, and she almost snarls in response as to how obvious that is, understanding in time that the woman is trying to comfort her.

"I apologize," she manages after a few moments. The adrenaline is starting to subside, and the familiar weariness that has been growing in her over the past few weeks returns in increments. Alba kneels by her bed side, a pitcher of water on the floor near her. Outside, the sky is the inky black indicative of early morning hours.

"There is no need for apology. I have brought you water. The Master requested your presence early today.

"Again." She says tiredly. Alba nods. It has been weeks since she has arrived. Weeks of sleepless nights and long days at Danarius' side, often being used as the power for his more draining spells. Fresh cuts and old scabs litter her forearms. And the collar still around her neck prevents her from healing herself, assuming she had the strength to do so after being drained by the magister. Danarius. Her hate for him grows more and more every day. Oh how she prays to the Maker for the power of forgiveness, but in truth she finds herself less and less willing to give it.

"Ava," Alba pleads, holding the pitcher of water to her. "Clean up quickly. You don't want to make the master wait."

She is too tired to think of a joke to make at his expense, so she simply takes the pitcher and drags herself off of her cot. Her arms and legs feel like lead, and when she stands, the room tilts for a moment. The pitcher slips out of her hands and plummets, splashing cold water across the tile floor. She watches it go, reflexes so dulled by weariness that she can not even try to catch it before it falls.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, staggering across the room in search of a rag. Alba lays a hand on her arm, and through the haze of fatigue, she can see the pity on this woman's face. The look scares her. It has been a very long time since she has seen this look, one she would be content to never have directed at her again.

"I will clean this up. Please go eat something." She nods and walks away, unable to express her thanks to Alba but with an obedient nod.

She walks from the slave quarters to the main estate, after a small, barely nourishing meal of bread an cheese, morning light rising and spilling over the grounds. The other slaves are stirring, preparing for the duties of the day. She walks past, garnering stares from a few. So far she has earned only the trust of Alba.

The walk is long, so she focuses simply on the act of walking itself, one foot after the other. Her dream comes creeping back into her consciousness as she travels. Anders, she had dreamt Anders- no, Justice had spoken to her in her dream. But that was impossible. Since her capture, she had slept in the collar, which cut her off from the Fade she knew so well, secluding her in some fiendish side she had never once encountered before. It is a nice thought to entertain, though; the possibility that the spirit had found her somehow, and would send aid. She focuses on the swetness of the thought as she enters Danarius' study.

He is crouched over his desk, scrawling something on a parchment. He doesn't acknowledge her presence as she enters the room, as quietly as she can, moving to stand by his desk, arms folded behind her back. He continues to write, and she stands stock still, willing the trembling in her legs to cease. The thought of Justice in the Fade distracts her from the revulsion she feels standing in this man's presence. She keeps telling herself it isn't possible what she had seen, but she wants so very much to believe.

"Your mind is elsewhere, little bird. What thoughts are you dwelling upon?"

A moment's hesitation is all it takes for him to use the spell of compulsion on her. Already she has given up secrets previously unheard by anyone, so she speaks immediately, padding the silence with chatter while she thinks of a passable lie.

"Oh you know, just the usual. I wonder if anyone is feeding my dog. Or watering my house plants."

His eyes cut to her under his meticulously groomed eyebrows. "Is that so?"

"And wondering about this party the de Launcets were throwing. I was looking forward to that one." He's not moving threateningly, so she hopes for the best. "Their parties are always fun. Plenty of family drama."

"You would like a party, little bird?" he asks, setting down his quill and steepling his fingers, leaning back in his chair. Not quite what she had expected, to say the least. She shrinks under his scrutiny, but tries to appear unperturbed.

"It would be fun, wouldn't it? More so than the countless blood rituals you've been performing as of late. What's the rush, anyway? Trying to get thrown into the Void before your time?"

His impassive face flickers at the mention, partially with humor at her sharp tongue. "You know it is in poor taste to mention such things, Ava."

"Pardon me, I've never been much of a lady." An image bursts forth in her mind, vivid and unheralded, of a soiree she had attended in years past after having been named Champion of Kirkwall. An event thrown in her honor, as well as that of her companions. A lavish affair it had been, with half the city in attendance, all vying for their attention. Even now she can feel the lush velvet of her dress (one with an exorbitant price bought, at Isabela's behest), deep wine red and edged with creamy lace, and see her friends, all done up themselves. She'd seen Aveline in a ball gown for the first time ever that night. Varric nearly had a coronary event over that. It had been great fun. Even Anders had been convinced to leave his clinic, and Merrill her ancient mirror, and Fenris... He too had dressed up for the occasion, albeit grudgingly. He had looked so handsome in his finery, and they had danced into the night.

"I think a party is a splendid idea." He speaks, drawing her out of her rumination over the past, so far away and out of reach. "Perhaps a welcome back affair. A chance to show you off. I would like that."

"As you will, Master," she assents, glowering, suddenly wishing she had chosen some other lie. "Should I go tell Alba?" Any excuse to escape his proximity.

"No, not now. Why don't you have a seat, sweet thing, you look so very tired."

Her pride wants to say no, but her buckling knees give her no choice. She slides down into a plush padded chair, head lolling slightly to the side. She's never been this tired in her life.

"I expected this would happen," he sighs, clicking his tongue and running his fingers along the silverite band about her neck. "I originally created this to contain my little wolf, you know."

She knows. She can still remember the hatred on his face, the grit of his teeth when he had told her about Danarius dragging him around on a chain like the Qunari did to their saarebas, a mocking of their custom. She wonders what he would say to her being in the same position.

"Unfortunately, it was not designed for use on a mage. Long periods of time without using our power-"

"-is deadly. I am aware." All too late she realizes how impertinent the words sound. He only seems to abide by her sarcasm when she speaks with a sweet tongue. She waits for the retribution, the customary slap or blow, but nothing comes. It seems 'Master' is in a good mood.

"Well, we can't have that, can we? Can I trust you to behave yourself?"

She snorts incredulously. "I can't see why you wouldn't. I don't think I'm much of a threat at the moment." In all likelihood, she wouldn't make it to the door before collapsing on herself.

"No. You are not." If she wasn't before, the way he had spoken those words were warning enough to not try anything.

He produces a small, delicate key seemingly from thin air, and brushes her hair aside, slowly and deliberately. She shudders, and hears him chuckle under his breath. It feels like a small eternity but he finally unlocks the blighted thing and lifts it from her shoulders.

"Praise the Maker," she sighs in relief. Liberation is a wonderful feeling.

"Better?"

"Yes." Already she feels her strength returning, magic pulsing unrestricted in her veins. On a whim, she shoots a fireball into the hearth, and watches the logs go up in bright flames. Danarius grins at her, pleased at her show of strength instead of intimidated like she had hoped.

"Impressive. It usually takes some time for the magic to resurface after having been bound for so long."

Knowing that such comments from are supposed to be answered with gratitude, she dips her head. "Thank you. I aim to please." She wonders how many other mages have been forced to wear the damnable thing.

"I'd like to see those fabled healing powers of yours." He circles her, with easy slinking steps. She stays in her chair, eyes on the floor.

"If you insist. Who needs it?"

"One of my slaves, Balazs. He had an... incident. I want to know if you can fix him." Fix him, like he's an object. She frowns at the wording, but listens anyway. She knows Balazs, Alba's little brother. She had only seen the boy a few times, he stuck to the shadows and fringes of fields of vision, but she had seen his scars: thick, rope-y strands of bright white skin spreading out across the expanse of his face, neck, and shoulder like a spiderweb. The wound they were caused by undoubtedly was painful.

"What kind of 'incident'?" she asks.

"He irritated me."

"You did that to him because he irritated you?" For a moment she is struck dumb by the concept. Brutality and senseless cruelty she has seen in droves, but never before such callousness, or disregard for the life of another.

"Sometimes I forget my own strength." He shrugs languidly as he speaks, as if it is of little consequence. "Surely you have done the same?"

"No. I have not. I believe magic should serve what is best in me, not that which is most base."

"An interesting ideology. And of course, you are above such barbarism aren't you, little bird? And yet..." Tilting his head, is eyes bore right into her. "I can see it in you, I can feel it, roiling in your soul, the darkness you try to hide."

"You must have me mistaken," is her instant denial, voice wavering with discomfort. "I've never had a bad thought in my life. Well, unless you count the excessive swearing and-"

""Laughter and jokes to hide behind. What is the shadow in yourself that you hide from? What is it that you fear?" He is rapidly approaching her now, stalking with intent, with purpose. She stumbles up from her chair, scrambling back toward the fire as he advances.

"Spiders, the dark, small spaces, pigeons-"

"Enough posturing, my bird." He raises his hand, flicking his wrist almost imperceptible. The overwhelming command of blood magic washes over her, tendrils of whispers probing her mind for secrets.

"What are you hiding in there?" he grasps her face in one hand, still commanding his foul magic in the other. She can't break away, too consumed with the fight against his spell and not the murmurings of demons drawn to the scene.

"I fear," she grits her teeth, trying to keep the words from him, though she herself is not even sure what they will be, "I fear-"

The door creaks open and his hold on her is broken, attention drawn to Alba, who enters, head bowed.

"Magister, ego-" she raises her head and her face pales, eyes widening. "Oh! Your pardon. You are...busy."

Danarius relinquishes her from the vise of his fingers and fluidly clasps his hands behind his back with composure. Hawke, however, supports herself on the bricks of the fire place, breathing a relieved prayer of thanks to Andraste for sending Alba in that moment. Part of her wonders what she would have said had she not arrived...

"I brought you Balazs, as you asked." Sure enough, the younger elf peeks out from behind his sister, though in truth he is far too large to effectively hide behind her, tall as a human man.

Danarius looks to her with a smirk. She stands tall, hoping to appear blasé. "Send him in."

Hawke notices the moment's hesitation it takes for Alba to comply. Understandable, in light of Danarius' admission. She watches Balazs receive some quiet commands, or perhaps words of comfort from his sister, and then he enters the study, doors closing behind him. He jumps when they click shut.

"Introductions need not be made, yes? Child," he turns to the quaking young man, who could not hunch down any farther into himself if he tried. "Allow her to heal you."

He glances between the two of them, and then all but stampedes to her when Danarius moves, diving to his knees in front of her with a barely audible whimper. She manages to keep her scathing gaze from Danarius, crouching down to Balazs' level.

"That can't be a comfortable position," she smiles, slowly reaching out to him. "Why don't you come sit over here?" He doesn't meet her eyes, but follows her instructions, rising and walking beside her with quick, skittish steps to the chair she had been in not minutes before. All the while, Danarius watches, arms folded, expression inscrutable. She keeps a wary eye on him as she goes.

"Alright, Balazs, may I take a look at your scars?"

His stare bores into the floor, chest rising and falling rapidly. Semi-reluctantly, he allows her tilt his head up an expose the marred skin hidden beneath long straw colored hair.

The damage is extensive. She has studied healing for a long time, and managed to repress the nauseating feeling that used to pass over her when looking at wounds, but what she sees almost brings that feeling back. Crisscrossing raised lines of knotted white scars run from his brow to the base of his neck, and continue down his back, out of sight underneath his linen shirt. They crowd up on his cheek, almost reaching his eye, and go as far back as the tip of his pointed ear. It is even worse than she had imagined it to be from Danarius' description.

"What did you do?" she accuses, and Balazs jumps at her words, flinching beneath her fingers. Even though she is not addressing him, she lowers her voice, but can do nothing about the anger it holds. The magister smiles, falsely apologetic. "It is as I said. I misjudged my strength when disciplining him. It is never wise to anger a powerful mage." Under her touch, the young man shudders. She does not bother with further questions.

"I can heal him. Fortunately, they are mostly superficial. It may take time to fully remove them, but it can be done."

"Excellent. I had quite regretted scarring his face..." He stares lasciviously at Balazs, who shrinks under the scrutiny. Hawke steps in between the two with a smile, just as 'apologetic' as the one he has flashed at her, bodily blocking the one from the other. Whether it is the removal of the collar, or the unwillingness to stand by while he is harassed. "Then I'll start immediately. But I will need absolute silence."

"I will not make a sound."

"No, I mean I need you to leave." His face darkens at her impetuousness, and her courage falters for a just a moment. It is foolish bravado that encourages her to keep battling his will, yet she does not stop. Balazs, Alba, they remind her of Orana and Fenris. And she can no more see these strangers suffer than she could her closest friends. "The less distractions, the better my work will be, you understand. I wouldn't want to cause any more damage."

He watches her for an disquietingly long moment, eyes locked with hers. "I will allow it, this once. In the future I expect that you will be able to work even amidst the greatest of distractions." Surprisingly, he flashes her a cold, toothy smile before exiting the room.

"I'll work on that," she snipes at the open air. "Well, good to finally be rid of him, don't you think?" she turns with an exaggerated air of insouciance. He meets her gaze for only a moment with grim eyes, disorienting in their familiar guardedness, snapping back to the floor in an instant.

"Could it be that you don't speak Common? Hmm, lets see if my Tevene has improved any... Homo qui est culum."

Success! He laughs, though he quickly tries to hide it by letting his head fall forward, curtain of fine, straw colored hair obscuring his face.

"Ah, so I'm making progress."

"Your pronunciation is very good, mistress," he finally speaks in heavily accented Common.

"It's just, Ava, not mistress. And I can't really claim much credit, it's just something I've heard a lot since coming here. It sounded fairly unflattering, so I figured it was applicable." He lifts his head timidly risking a look.

"It isn't-" he begins, voice barely a whisper. "Is it true what you said? You can remove these?"

"I'm fairly sure. My friend Anders taught me how to. He... had his fair share of scars to heal." Both those own and that of others. For a moment she thinks of him, wondering how he is doing, a concern she had not been able to review while under the draining effect of the collar. Snapping back to the present, she notices Balazs does not look very convinced of her ability.

"Yes. It can be done. Surely I've not gotten too rusty..." She means to set him further at ease, but he stares at her, as if puzzling something out.

"You must miss your friends," he observes, sounding... sad?

"Oh, a little," she lies. Eager to avoid his possible line of questioning, she diverts. "Are you ready? It will take some time. Might want to grab a good book."

"I can't read." She resists the urge to smack herself. Of course not. Neither could Fenris. "Will it hurt?"

"No, it won't. Have you ever been healed with magic before?" A nod. "It'll be just like that."

He allows her to pull up a stool beside his chair, and holds her hands out over him, one poised over his jaw, the other over his upper back. She brings the magic up and out, not fast and reckless like with fire, or or lightning, but carefully. It is a wonderful feeling, like scratching an itch. Power held hostage within her body is released, swirling around his wounds in an aura of white-blue light. Gradually, the edges of his scars begin to visibly recede.

By the time she's done, she's reduced the marred flesh to at least half the area it had taken up before. Balazs rises, touching his face in disbelief as he looks into the mirror over the fireplace, smiling wildly. It had only taken a few minutes, but the difference is vast. She is again tired, but it is a satisfied kind of weariness, not a barren fatigue.

"You have blessed me, Ava," he says reverently, bowing deeply. She stands, and makes him stand as well. "Oh, none of that. I'm not even finished yet. One or two more sessions and you'll be good as new."

"There is nothing I can give you in thanks for your kindness."

"I'm just glad I could help. Though I would like to know..." she wonders if it's wise to ask the question, and then asks anyway, "What was it that earned you this wound?"

His joy disappears, and his shoulder slump; he falls back into a protective posture.

"It is as the Master said. I angered him."

"By doing what?"

"He would not leave my sister alone." He stops short there, staring down at his feet, muscle in his jaw twinging.

"But he made you pay for it?"

"I do not regret what I did. I would-"

Danarius enters, and Balazs' mouth snaps shut. The gray bearded magister looks over him approvingly, grin spreading across his face. "Well done, well done indeed. He is much improved." He approaches, and takes Balazs' face between his fingers, looking over the healed skin, purposely oblivious to the boy's uneasiness. "You may go."

As he skitters for the door, he casts one last thankful glance at her before leaving.

"It will take some more time before I'm completely finished, but as you see, it can be done." He picks up the collar, and her stomach turns.

"I've proven that I'll not be running off any time soon, haven't I? Must I continue to wear that?"

He strikes her, with no preamble, dazing her long enough to clamp the collar shut around her neck.

"Remember your place, my little bird."

She grits her teeth, rubbing her sore cheek. "Of course, Master."

"Now shall we continue where we left off?" he raises that threatening hand. She backs away instantly. "I already told you, I have no more secrets. You have already heard all I have to tell." If not all, most, she's sure. She had already been forced to confess how she felt she was entirely responsible for Bethany's death at the paws of that blighted beast, even with her mother's absolution. Guilt over her brother's forced induction into the Grey Wardens. The negligence that led to her mother's murder, all her fault. What more can she reveal?

"There is more you hide, perhaps even from yourself."

She's not sure what unsettles her more, Danarius, or the threat of some dark secret so terrible she's hidden it even from herself. "You know what they say, 'let sleeping dogs lie'."

"But it is so much more entertaining to rouse them..."

She steels herself, ready for the attack, but it never comes. Instead, he sighs contentedly, returning to his desk and letter.

"Go tell Alba that I would like to throw a party in a month's time, little bird. Tell her to begin preparation."

She nods, and walks to the door as quickly as she can without appearing to run. A sigh of relief escapes her lips when she slips from his study into the bright hallway.

"A party?" she utters under her breath, shaking her hair loose. She cannot help but feel there is more to it than his desire to preen and show off his new slave. "What is this man truly planning?"

* * *

Author's Note: And so we see that Danarius is planning a party! How delightful. I wonder why he's performing all of those blood rituals though...

Avatarfan444: I look forward to your reviews so much:) I'm glad you like Carver and Merrill together! It wasn't something I considered originally, but I took the two of them running around the Wounded Coast and all of their banter was just so cute I couldn't resist throwing a little in here. And Alba indeed aims to be a good friend, even though in truth she's never had anyone but her little brother.

LostSpace: I'm glad you're excited to find out what happens! I won't lie though, I'm spacing out updates because I'm not writing them as quickly as I'm churning them out;)

Soon to come: Our favorite guard captain and her lovely husband. Stay tuned!


	22. Chapter 22

.xxii.

Donnic watches Aveline worry.

It's easy to miss; his lovely wife never makes a show of any of her feelings, keeps them bottled up and close to heart. She sits in the barracks, in front of the fireplace, twisting the gold bands on her gauntlets, staring intently into the flames as if the answers to whatever question she's pondering is are in there.

"Copper for your thoughts?"

She startles nearly imperceptibly at the sound of his voice, another subtle thing only someone who knew her well could pinpoint.

"You know better than to sneak up on me like that," she smiles, a little of the worry bunching her brow beginning to ebb away.

"Sorry love," he apologizes, taking a seat next to her on the bench and leaning in toward the warmth. "How did that meeting with the slavers go? Did you find anything?"

She nods. "They're definitely the ones who took Hawke. On a bounty, apparently. They still had the reward they had claimed. We didn't find out who issued the bounty, or if they're the ones who collected her afterward, but we know that it's a Tevinter Magister, probably one from Minrathous."

"How did you find that out?"

"The reward money. Tevene currency."

Aveline stands and pokes at the fire. Another habit of hers: focusing on a mundane task when trying to figure something out. "I still don't understand who would do this. Who would put this much effort into kidnapping Hawke? Someone not even from Kirkwall."

"Maybe they weren't really after Hawke." She turns and cocks her head at him. "Fenris' former master is a Tevinter Magister, isn't he? And last he told me, the man still had yet to make an appearance. Maybe he found out," he's not entirely sure how to classify the strange romantic dynamic between Hawke and Fenris, "found out about them, and is trying to use her to lure him out."

"But the trail-" she stops, considering what he has said. "Donnic, you may be right. But the letter- a diversionary tactic? False red herring?"

"Whether it was planned or not, now you have somewhere to begin looking. What is Varric planning?"

"You know him too well. He and Isabela are arranging for the _Siren's Call II _to be made ready for it's maiden voyage to Minrathous."

He laughs, and stands with an exaggerated stretch. "As I suspected. How long until you depart?"

"Depart? I can't leave Kirkwall. Not now, not with Meredith acting the way she is, not with the tension in the city."

"Aveline," chides Donnic, drawing her close and running his hands through her hair in the way she loves. "You're going. We both know that. Hawke is one of your best friends. You would regret it if you didn't."

"But Kirkwall-" she looks conflicted.

"Can wait. I promise I will not allow it to implode while you're gone. But you are going."

It takes a moment's hesitation, but she relaxes into his arms with a sigh. "You always know what to say."

"That's why you married me, isn't it?" She brushes aside a lock of his brown hair, smiling cryptically.

"Among other things. The good looks didn't hurt, either."

"But of course. So," he gives her a knowing grin, "when do you leave?"

"Just a few days. The journey will be shorter than average, Isabela promises. She says her new ship is superior to all others."

"Posturing?"

"She doesn't brag without cause. But that still puts us behind Hawke by several weeks, a month at least." That worry is seeping into her voice, and he kisses her until the crinkles at the edges of her eyes go away.

"Thank you for talking some sense into me."

"You would have gone even if I hadn't said anything."

"Well, you saved me the trouble of running alongside the ship as it pulled out of port." They both chuckle at the image.

"What a sight! Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut then."

"Hush, you,' she commands, nuzzling her face into his neck.

He wonders how he managed to get so lucky, with a wife like her.

* * *

Author's Note: Chapter 22 and I'm still going strong! you guys should know that the projected length of this piece is about 50 some chapters. It is a labor of love:)

Nanasawayuri: Twice! Oh my goodness! I'm glad you liked it! This chapter is for you then:D

Avatarfan44: Good! You would not believe how many times I've cursed his name while writing this. I wasn't sure if my characterization of him was correct since we saw so little of him (good thing, too), but if you hate him then I must be doing something right!

Soon to come: The merryband casts off! Bets are taken on who will get seasick first! Anders reveals something important to Fenris! I cry about these full grown men and women! Stay tuned!

Edit 3/3: I'm sorry you guys! I uploaded the chapter but forgot to submit it! I'm a wreck. Can hardly see through my Fenhawke tears, I guess. Anyway, here it is now!


	23. Chapter 23

.xxiii.

Fenris and Varric walk to the Docks as night falls. The dwarf has not left him alone for long since Hawke's disappearance.

"So how do I look? Travel wear suits me well, don't you think?" In order to keep a low profile, everyone has decided to change their usual wear for clothing less conspicuous. He has traded his armor for simple cloth pants, a tunic, and a cloak. Underneath, of course, he wears leather armor. Varric is dressed like the garden variety dwarven noble, sans beard, of course.

He snorts in reply, making a sharp turn at the stairs leading to the waterfront. "Quicken your pace. The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can depart."

"I have to say I'm surprised that you didn't just jump into the ocean and start doing the breast stroke to Tevinter."

"I have been tempted." Varric doesn't look like he knows if that's a joke or not. "It has taken too long to arrange this voyage. Hawke..."

"We did the best we could, Broody. You know that."

"I know. I am not laying blame at anyone's feet. I just-"

"You're worried. I know. And you have every right to be. But it's like Aveline said: whoever did this wanted her alive."

"You know very well who could be behind this. If such is the case, death may not be the worst fate to suffer."

Aveline had told him her theory on his old master's involvement. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but the more he considered it, the more it made sense. It would be a lie to say he had not considered the possibility after finding out what they had from their encounter with the slavers, but he had initially written it off as paranoia.

"Guess there's little comfort in me telling you she'll be alright for the millionth time, but we're on our way now. We'll get her out of there and take care of whoever is responsible, and when we get back, we'll get ridiculously drunk and celebrate."

"That sounds appealing. I'll hold you to that."

"And of course, I'll destroy you at Wicked Grace."

"You said that last time I beat you."

"That was luck, just you wait kid."

The _Siren's Call II_ comes into view around the corner of a baked brick dock house. In the glimmering moonlight, he can make out Isabela, Merrill, Aveline, and Donnic all congregated near the boarding ramp of the ship, clustered together in the shadows, almost of sight.

"Aiming for 'fashionably late', you two?" the captain grins.

Fenris plucks at Varric's sleeve. "Just him."

"Why Varric! You look just like a real nobleman!" Merrill smiles widely. She has changed as well, green Dalish armor replaced by with the attire of a raider, surprisingly enough, though it looks a little loose on her. Her vallaslin are gone as well, perhaps hidden under makeup.

"As opposed to a _fake_ nobleman?" Varric scoffs, feigning offense.

"Well, you're missing the beard, but aside from that, very convincing," adds Aveline, who has traded her Guard Captain armor for the gear of a soldier of Ferelden.

"You've all done well disguising yourselves," approves Isabela, who, in contrast, has not changed at all.

Merrill shrugs a little. "I figured it probably wouldn't be very good to run around dressed like a Dalish elf."

"You were wise to consider that." Fenris can't help but notice how shocked she looks at his words.

"The less attention we draw to ourselves, the better," Aveline affirms, and after a minute motions to several approaching figures. Gradually Carver, Sebastian and Anders come into view.

"Looks like we can finally start this party," Carver smirks, sounding just like his sister, confident and aloof. His Grey Warden regalia is gone and it's stead he wears his old Fereldan Man-at-Arms uniform. Sebastian too has foregone his plate for light leather armor. Anders however, looks mostly unaltered, though he has changed his robes for something a little less attention grabbing. They look like different people almost, outside of the garb he is accustomed to seeing them in.

"You managed to convince Gamlen and Charade to stay, then?" Aveline asks Carver.

"It was no small feat," he admits with a shake of his head, "but I told them I needed them to stick around in case my sister manages to make it back without our help. They agreed to keep lookout while we're gone."

"And I will as well," Donnic announces. "If anything worth reporting happens, I'll send word immediately."

"Thank you, love," Aveline squeezes his hand lovingly.

"Yes, thank you love," teases Isabela, jumping out of the way of the resulting swat from the red head.

"We'd better not waste any more time then," Sebastian advises. They all begin to board, however Anders hangs back, tugging Fenris back by the hood of his cloak. He is not pleased to be touched by the mage, but resist the urge to hurl him bodily into the water. Anders waves him away from the gang plank a little.

"You have something to I say, I would assume?" Their last confrontation hangs heavily in the air between them.

"I do. I... wanted to apologize."

Not quite what he had been expecting. "For?"

With a labored sigh, Anders brushes his hair out of his face. "I've been a little hard on you, since all of this happened. I know we aren't exactly friends, but-well, I mean, you haven't tried to kill me, and that's more than I can say for most. So before we do this: I'm sorry."

He studies the man for a few moments, who looks to be waiting on pins and needles for a response. He's not sure what to say. Where he had once felt distrustful and indignant, he now felt shamed for his behavior, for some inexplicable reason. He can't help but think of what Hawke would say to the two of them in such a situation.

Anders crosses his arms, with an indignant snort. "You don't make things easy, do you? Never mind, I shouldn't have bothered-"

"Apology accepted." Anders' jaw drops mid sentence.

"I have been less that charitable as well, therefore you have my apologies too. Let us leave it in the past and focus on finding Hawke."

"Huh. Didn't see it going quite like that." Before the mage can say something foolish and ruin the thus far tolerable interaction with something like a hug, he turns to board the ship, but he is stopped again.

"One more thing. I had a dream."

"As did I; one where I was allowed to board the ship."

Anders wrinkles his nose at the obvious sarcasm. "No, you don't understand. Justice spoke to me in the Fade. He told me he found Hawke."

His heart jumps in his chest. He isn't entirely sure of the significance of Anders' words, only that both he and Merrill had been trying to find Hawke there, efforts until now unfruitful.

"Your spirit found her? Not you?"

"Yes. He told me she was in a strange part of the Fade, a place usually cordoned off to your average mage. The kind of place usually populated by demons."

"What was the spirit doing there? Consorting with it's kin?"

"No! What do you think he does there, knit? Anyway, that's not important. He found her there, alone. No demons, nothing. She spoke to him."

"What did she say? Is she unharmed?"

"He told me she was disoriented, scared. And she told him she thought she was in danger, but she didn't seem like she was aware of the waking world."

"Are you mages not supposed to retain that awareness?"

"We are. So not only is she in a part of the Fade where she would not normally be, but she's being kept apart from her consciousness while asleep. I don't know what you know of somniari, or magic of this kind, but she is being held captive by a very powerful mage, or mages. I'm sure of it."

"I... appreciate you telling me this, but it changes nothing. We will still-"

"Your previous master is a powerful mage, isn't he?" He asks a question he already knows the answer to. "It makes sense, or at least, more sense than some random magister paying what they did to get her. If I'm right, we need to be very careful. This could be an elaborate trap."

The only image worse than his Hawke in the hands of an unknown magister is Hawke in the hands of his former master. In this case, the devil well known is not preferable to the devil unknown.

"It was my original suspicion. I-" he cannot convey the terror it makes rise in his throat, terror he thought he had rid himself of long ago. "Even more of a reason that I must do this, so I hope you aren't trying to dissuade me from going."

Anders laughs, a surprising sight from the man who has seemingly forgotten how to smile for the last several months. "Wouldn't dream of it. But if I let anything happen to you, Hawke will break my legs."

"Thank you again, for warning me. We should move on."

"Of course."

As they board, Isabela gives them a low bow. "Welcome aboard, boys. I'm taking bets on who will get seasick first."

"Is that really necessary, Bela?" sighs Anders.

"No, but it will be entertaining. We've got a long way to go. Might as well enjoy ourselves."

"Varric," Fenris bets, dropping a few silvers into the captain's hand, earning an indignant glance from the dwarf. Looking incredibly put out, Anders sighs and hands her some money, placing a bet on Carver.

He stores his baggage and takes a seat on a pile of crates. Merrill climbs up the mast and situates herself in the lookout, calling out to them with apparent excitement. Sebastian bows his head and whispers a prayer as Isabela orders her men to cast off.

They are underway.

* * *

Author's Note: In honor of it being my 19th birthday, I'm posting two chapters for you guys today! Thank you for staying with it this long!

Edit: Rewrote this one a bit to may the dialogue a little more clear, as per a request a received. Hope this is better reading!


	24. Chapter 24

.xxiv.

The estate is all abuzz with the news of Master Danarius' party. Hawke observes with jaded withdrawal as the other slaves chatter and speculate about the upcoming event. She has been run too ragged to care about the masquerade being thrown, or whom is attending with whom. She's actually more amazed at how any one else has the time to talk about it with all the work there is to be dealt with. So much work, even more than she had ever done on the farm in Lothering, and she was no layabout.

She sets down the books she is carrying to Danarius' study, the combined weight of the thick tomes, oppressive heat, and the collar making her travel across the wide courtyard difficult. Staring into the cloudless sky, she counts the seconds of her diversion, estimating how much time she has to rest before Danarius becomes irate with her absence. She is lost in calculation when a voice draws her from her thoughts.

"Ava!" Balazs calls with a shy smile, waving her over to the well. She gathers the books up again, supporting them on her hip, and walks over to him. Setting the cumbersome volumes down on the dusty ground, she leans against the adobe wall while he draws the bucket up, pouring her an earthenware cup of water. "You should drink something. You look unwell."

"Must be the heat. I'm sure I could fry eggs on the ground right now."

"I know it's more than that," he speaks quietly, pressing the large cup into her hand and folding her fingers around it. "I know the Master uses your blood for his rituals. He says the blood of mages is far more powerful." He pushes up the edge of her sleeve, exposing the long red lines or varying size hidden underneath.

She averts her eyes. It's the disgusting truth, and she is ashamed to be the walking sacrifice for blood magic, a vile art that goes against all she believes, all she stands for. Or stood for, once, when she was free to stand as she chose. She draws back, tugging the arm of her tunic down, brushing off his concern. "I've had worse. It's nothing, really. There was this one time with this angry bronto. Messy stuff."

"You will get used to it," he assures. The words he means to comfort chill her to the core, in spite of the midday heat. Eager to change the subject, she brushes aside his hair and investigates his face. Nearly every trace of his scars are gone. He smiles, so much more outgoing than he had known him to be before.

"My sister says she had almost forgotten what I had looked like without them. I can not thank you enough."

"Don't you start. You do not owe me a life debt, or anything of the sort, and if you say sorry again I'll throw you down this well."

He doesn't look convinced. "Drink your water, please."

Gratefully, she does as she's asked, downing the cup quickly. He pours her another, and she quickly consumes that too. Her time is dwindling though, so once again she gathers up her burden.

"Thank you Balazs. I'll see you later."

"Goodbye, Ava," he waves, and hefts a yoke with two brimming buckets of water over his shoulders, and sets off. Turning, she goes her own way, heading for Danarius' study.

When she arrives, he isn't there, strangely enough. Thanking the Maker, she drops the books on his desk with an umbrageous sigh and sags against it, closing her eyes for a moment.

"He should not keep you in that for as long as he does."

She jumps, reflexively grabbing for her staff, despite not having had it in her possession for a while, and sinks into a fighting posture. Her legs cry out at what is being required of them, and she endeavors not to wobble on her feet.

In the corner, a cool looking elven woman watches her with a look of mixed formality and distaste. The first thing Hawke notices about her is the vibrant flame red of her hair. Against the pallor of her skin, and the darkness of the room, it stands out.

"If he does not free you from it more often, he will kill you. I've told him as much, but he does not listen."

"It certainly feels like it." She lets out a wavering breath, the threat of confrontation seemingly nonexistent. Surreptitiously, she goes back to leaning on the desk for support. "Who are you?"

The elven woman stands, spine regally stiff. "I am Danarius' apprentice. You may call me Mistress Varania." Her demeanor is souring.

"Apprentice, is it? Hm. Did you hear about what happened to Danarius' last apprentice?"

"I heard he captured the one responsible for her death, and she now serves at his feet."

She huffs with amusement and the woman's quick response. "You got me there." Varania steps closer, out of the shadows, and something about her strikes Hawke in a way she cannot name. There is something familiar about her face. She has seen this woman before, somewhere..."You, do I know you? You look-"

"No. I have been away seeing to a task for the Master. I have only just returned. I wish to see him. Is he here?"

"He was a moment ago, when he sent me for all these books."

"I must speak to him. It is important."

"I haven't seen him. But if I run into him, I'll send him your way." She pushes away from the desk, heading toward the door, the crush of her duties for the day overshadowing her curiosity about this 'Varania'.

"Wait, slave, I have not yet dismissed you." Hawke stops, rounding on the woman slowly, biting back vitriol.

"With your leave, then, I have other-"

"Do you know a man named 'Fenris'?"

Her vexation is quickly replaced with shock. Then fear. And then rage. Another apprentice of Danarius' asking for him, by name no less. But Danarius had sworn to leave him alone! "Why? Do you know him? Did Danarius send you to find him?" She doesn't answer immediately. "Your Master has sworn an oath to leave him be. If this is not the case I guarantee-"

"You are too arrogant for your station, slave," the woman accuses, "You will address me with the respect I deserve."

Slowly she repeats herself, fists curling. "How do you know about Fenris?" Despite the obvious discrepancy in their strengths, Varania backs away from her.

"I know he is one of your companions. The tales of your exploits travel from Kirkwall to many places."

"That doesn't answer my question." Still she is advancing threateningly, and still the other woman is backing away from her.

"I- I knew him when he was still serving our Master. I wanted to know how his life of freedom has treated him." The last of her words are sneered, unmistakable in their resentment.

"Then you'll be pleased to know that he still suffers, even now, because of what your master did to him."

Varania blink at this, and then frowns. She does not look pleased at all. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you and your master have tortured him enough. Leave him alone, or I will ensure that you suffer the same fate as the one who came before you."

"Ava," a voice from the doorways drawls. They both snap to attention. She retreats from Varania, head dipping involuntarily as Danarius enters the room, robes swishing at his feet. "That's no way to treat your betters."

"You swore in blood that you would leave him be. Why is she asking me about him?"

"I would assume you mean Fenris? Has she not told you who she is?"

"Yes. She is your apprentice."

Varania shoots him a pained look, and Danarius looks entertained by her discomfort. "Not quite. She still has yet to prove herself."

"That is what I came to speak to you of, Master." She says no more, and Hawke wonders what it is she was sent to do.

"This has nothing do with Fenris, Ava. Now please go, I have much to discuss with Varania." He smiles, an overly slick expression that looks like it is meant to comfort, but only unsettles.

"You swear you are not breaking your word to me?"

"I swear it, little bird. Now, if you please?" He gestures to the door languorously.

With a final warning look cut at the elven woman, who once again stands proud and fearless, she backs out of the room with a curtsy, and closes the door. She is considering lingering to eavesdrop when another one of the other slaves bids her over to help them with some task or the other. Reluctantly, she goes.

Something about her encounter with this Varania sticks in her teeth, making her ill at ease in a way she cannot place.

Even worse, she fears that Danarius is not being completely forthright with her.

* * *

Author's Note: The second chapter of the birthday for all you lovely readers. Hope you're still enjoying yourselves!

Next chapter: We find out who gets seasick first! I'm taking bets in the reviews;) Until next time!


	25. Chapter 25

.xxv.

Carver is the first to get seasick.

Merrill looks after him attentively as he vacates the contents of his stomach into the ocean yet again. As she comfortingly rubs his back, she catches sight of Isabela grinning triumphantly, collecting her money. The beautiful pirate winks at her without shame.

"Very tactful, Rivaini," Varric reproves, looking a little green himself.

"That's my middle name, you know."

"I'm going to kill you," threatens Carver, before convulsing again, gripping the edges of the ship with white knuckles. He retches until there is nothing left, and then greatly accepts one of her home made potions, without even questioning what it is. Several empty glass bottles sit on the deck between the two of them, shifting lightly in time with the boat.

"You held out longer than I expected you would," Isabela chuckles, waltzing past them, light on her feet. "Take good care of him, Kitten. We want him in fighting shape when we arrive."

"He can just throw up on anyone who gives us trouble," Sebastian suggests dryly, not even looking up from where he polishes his bow, concentration lining his face.

"Oh, that's a fantastic idea," encourages the pirate, adjusting with the rigging. "They wouldn't dare mess with us after that."

"Why does my sister associate with these people?" Carver mumbles dejectedly, the worst of his sickness apparently having passed.

"They're not always this bad," Merrill tries to convince him, but Aveline scoffs.

"Yes, yes they are always this bad."

"If it makes you feel any better," Merrill whispers to him, beneath the teasing chatter of her friends, "I think you held out very long."

He groans in response, and she can't tell if it's her encouragement, or if he's feeling ill again, so she simply brushes his hair back gently, rubbing his head. Sometimes Keeper Marethari would do the same for her when she felt sick, and it always helped.

"Thank you, Merrill," he answers, looking pallid. "I appreciate the help."

"I like helping you," she says, without thinking, and then becomes terribly aware of how foolish it sounds, and clamps her mouth shut. Carver grins at her a little, and she doesn't even mind that she can see bits of last night's meal caught in his teeth.

"I hope you feel better now," she says as he stands hesitantly, supporting himself on her outstretched arms as much as he dares to without looking emasculated.

"I do, actually. What was in that potion?"

"You don't want to know," Anders calls out from across the deck, looking up momentarily from the parchment he's been scribbling on all afternoon. "Don't ask questions and just be glad it works."

Carver shoots him an irritated look. "Probably for the better, anyway," he wipes his mouth with a shrug. "I've seen what my sister puts into some of them, and that was frightening, to say the least."

"She once confused the recipes for a health potion and debilitating poison. Almost killed me!" Isabela laughs, shaking her head reminiscently. "Ah, good times."

"Remember when we caught Galahad drinking out of her potions bag?" asks Varric with a smirk. "I thought he was a goner. That much lyrium could floor a Templar."

"That's nothing. I once caught him gnawing on one of those corpses Fenris keeps in his foyer," Carver says, smirk pulling at his lips. She's glad to see him smile now. If occurs to her that she's actually rather missed his lopsided smile over the years.

"I don't keep them there," Fenris corrects. "They are the work of some enchantment."

"My mistake. That's even worse, though."

"It's amazing what that hound has survived, really. Mabari are a very resilient race." Sebastian comments. "And the way he gets stuck places, he might even be part cat as well."

Anders looks incensed by the suggestion. "That creature is not part cat."

The debate carries on without them, while Isabela eggs the two sides on.

"So," Carver begins, "Nice sailing weather." Suddenly he looks nauseous again, though in a different way.

"It is. I hope it stays this way. It's very nice when the sun shines."

"Me too."

They sit in silence, and she fidgets with a buckle on her shirt, staring at the planks beneath her bare feet. Being around him, even after all these years still makes her search for words that don't sound inane.

"I'm glad you're here. I mean, I'm glad to see you again. Even though it's not really a good reason why you're here, but it's still good that you're here, so I'm glad for that. I mean, not for why you're here-" he is looking at her peculiarly, "I should stop talking now."

"No! No, you shouldn't! I'm glad that you're glad that I'm here!" A second lapses where they both try to puzzle what he has just said. Suddenly, they both laugh at how silly they sound. "I mean I'm glad to see you too. Even if the situation is less than desirable."

"Now I'm feeling sick," Anders snorts, but she pays him no heed.

On a whim, she slides her small hand into his big, calloused palm. His fingers close around hers. She beams at him.

Well she does, until his face falls, and he throws himself over the edge of the ship, retching.

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, trying this again, is it all clear guys? I don't know why it did that! Anyway, I hope it's legible now. Thank you Blue Wolf29, Salji, and Elyssa Cousland for pointing out that weird little glitch. I have to admit I nearly choked when I logged in and saw all those messages waiting for me. I was wondering what I had done wrong!

Hey you guys! Hope you're doing well. Here's chapter 25 for your viewing pleasure, with a special dedication to Nezumi, who suggested such a great idea that I just had to include it (Galahad is actually not at all offended at your suggestion, it's probably true!)

Avatarfan444: Ah! your reviews make me grin! Thank you for your well wishes! I really liked how the game hinted at how the other characters interacted off screen, and I wanted to elaborate on that a bit. I couldn't let Anders and Fenris fight for the rest of the story, their actually very similar, and their dedication to Hawke is one thing they can always agree on. And as for Varania, I hated her too, at first (how could she do that to her own brother!), but I can kind of see where she's coming from. Later on, I hope to make her motivations more clear.

Tanith's crazy twin: Am I making you ship Carver and Merrill? I hope do! I always thought their awkward banter was adorable, and their alsoa pretty good foil for Hawke and Fenris, who are a little more serious and weighty.

Soon to come: Hawke does not get paid enough to deal with this! Do you hate Danarius yet? Because if you don't you'll certainly be getting closer to it soon enough! Somebody take away my keyboard! Stay tuned!


	26. Chapter 26

.xxvi.

"Aleka. Aleka!"

Someone is calling her, but she doesn't want to move, doesn't want to respond. She's too tired. She presses her eyes shut tighter, willing herself to sink back into abysmal slumber.

"Aleka!" Deep, incessant, and frustrating, the voice won't stop calling her name. "Aleka, wake up, please!"

She doesn't really want to, but the impassioned plea makes her pry her eyes open. Wherever she is, it's dim, and it takes some time for her vision to adjust. Familiar; that brocade curtain is familiar. Where... the Keep? What could she possibly be doing asleep in the Keep?

"Her eyes are open!" another voice announces, not the one from before, a woman, well known though it seems like it's been so long since she's heard it.

A face comes into focus above her own, brow wrinkled with concern, the corners of her hazel eyes crinkling the way they always do when she's worried. Her heart jumps. Bethany. It's Bethany.

"Beth...?" she asks, reaching for her sister.

"And she still remembers your name. That's a good sign." Anders, she recognizes. Her head snaps to where he stands, making a short bout of dizziness assault her, but there he is, crouching beside her sister, looking equally concerned.

"But does she know her own?" That's Aveline, calm and collected as ever, standing just behind them, watching over their shoulders with the air of a concerned mother.

"Depends on how much she's had tonight. Just a look at an ale and she starts staggering." Carver. Smart ass. Despite his unconcerned approach, he is kneeling on the tile beside her, holding her hand supportively.

She forces herself to sit up, eyes still locked on her sister in an effort to keep from dizzying.

"Sister! Are you alright?" Bethany takes hold of her face and checks her eyes, rotating her head.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." She waves her sister's worried hands away. "I think. What happened?"

"You collapsed." Fenris! She turns to find him perched behind her, supporting her by her shoulders. He offers her a small, calming smile and her heart jumps at sight. He is more and more handsome every time she looks at him. It's like when she doesn't see him she forgets how beautiful he is.

"Have you eaten today? Are you getting enough sleep?" Bethany renews her efforts at investigation, brushing hair out of the way and testing her tracking ability with a finger. Hawke takes her sister's hand away with a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm fine. Like Carver said, probably too much to drink."

"Now stop fretting, love," Anders commands gently, taking Bethany's hand and helping her to her feet. She smiles up at him, lost to the world for a moment.

"Oh, get a room you two," Carver snorts, tossing his head. Bethany shoots him a sly look. "Oh we will when you stop kissing Merrill when you think no one can see you."

Carver goes beet red, and mutters something about getting a glass of water before bolting out the door.

"Nice one," Hawke commends her little sister, who smiles brightly.

"We'll leave you to recuperate. Come get us if you start feeling faint or sprout any extra limbs or anything," Anders offers with a grin. Now Bethany is the one tugging him to the door, shaking her head.

"Feel better, Sister!" she calls out over her shoulder before leaving the room, Aveline following.

She pushes to her feet, and Fenris offers her his hand which she gratefully takes, not trusting her own legs at the moment. When she is safely seated on a plush bench, he settles down beside her.

"Are you eating enough?"

She scoffs at his question. "Oh don't you start too. Of course I am!"

"Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Fenris honestly, I'm fine!" she laughs, more than a little pleased at his intent questioning.

"You... worried me."

"Promise not to again." She reaches out and brushes a lock of white hair out of his eyes. He reaches up and twines his fingers with hers.

"Please don't." His voice is low and gruff, and he's leaning toward her, eyes locked on her lips. She is again struck by how perfect he is; the fine line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth as he approaches-

Sudden lightheadedness washes over her again and she braces herself against him, grabbing hold of his arms and biting her lip, working to stay upright.

"What's wrong? Are you feeling it again?" As soon as he speaks, though, the feeling is gone, almost as if it had never been there.

"Ah, just an aftershock I suppose. In fact, I'm feeling much better now." It's mostly true. She stands and takes a deep breath, catching snippets of cheering from outside the room, which she has now placed as Aveline's office. "We're in here missing the festivities? That won't do. Come on!" She grasps his hand, gently tugging him to the door. She wants to dance. It feels like she hasn't had fun in forever.

"I don't think you should-" Before he can protest anymore, she's pulled him into the party proper.

It's amazing. Hundreds people are swirling around in brightly colored party clothes, dancing in time to the cheerful music. Lights twinkle in the chandeliers, servers twine in and out of the crowds with gleaming silver platters and goblets. A waltz is beginning, and couples are joining up all over the floor.

"I know what you're going to ask, and the answer is no." Fenris says firmly, following her gaze to the dance floor. "I don't dance, and right now you don't need to. We should go back-"

"Look at Mother and Father!" she laughs, pointing across the room. Sure enough, Malcolm Hawke is exuberantly spinning a reluctant Leandra about the floor, grinning devilishly through his white streaked beard. He dips her low and she squeals in delight, clutching his back. Fenris sighs, crossing his arms. She looks pleadingly at him. "Just one dance?"

"If you promise to take a break afterwards, very well."

Not giving him a chance to change his mind, she shoots off down the hall towards the dancers. Isabela intercepts her, grabbing her by the arm.

"You look marvelous. I told you that dress was perfect."

"I will admit you chose well."

"Of course I did. I always do."

They spin past Ser Emeric, who nods to the both of them with a small smile that tips the edges of his beard up. "Serah Hawke." His partner smiles as well, a young elven enchanter from the Circle. She smiles warmly. "Hello again, Hawke!"

Before they can say much else, the music draws them away. Isabela dips her showily, much to the amusement of the other guests.

"I hope I'm not making your date jealous," Hawke grins. The dark haired woman tosses her head in amusement, bright gold jewelry, and gold brocade gown catching the candle light. "I doubt Varric will mind too terribly much. Besides, he's been eyeing another woman all night."

"Bianca doesn't count."

"You try and say that when Fenris starts offering his sword drinks and not you."

A distinctly Ferelden song begins to play as the previous Antivan style waltz ends and Bela bows, with a big grin. She goes twirling off into the crowd. Looking around for another partner before Fenris comes to drag her away from the fun, she catches Aveline's eye. The guards woman is grinning ear to ear, having recognized the tune. They pair up, and she sees Carver throwing his head back in genuine laughter. He's always enjoyed this dance.

No over-thinking it, she allows the rhythm to wash over her and reacts to it, locking arms with Aveline and swinging around to the next person, moving in set patterned lines. Those who aren't dancing are clapping in time, cheering them on. Varric, Isabela, Merrill, Carver, and her mother all meet her coming one way. Her father is at the end of the line, eyes twinkling with the intensity of his smile.

"You look beautiful tonight, darling," he tells her as the music begins to reach its climax, signally the end of the dance.

"You don't look so bad yourself!" Her laughs outright at her, lifting her by the waist and swinging her in an arc through the air. The cheers get louder.

"Fenris is a Maker-blessed man." At the mention of him she casts her glance around the room, finding him leaning against the wall, watching the other dancers with a small smirk. "I am a blessed woman." The last strains play, ending as the music swells for the last time, and the assembly applauds.

"You'd better claim him for the next dance. I heard the Comte de Launcet's daughters speaking appreciatively of him. I on the other hand, better go find your Mother." With a last affectionate pat, he sends her on her way, toward the corner where Fenris is perched. He scowls a little bit less when he sees her approaching, straightening up and making an effort to brush the wrinkles out of his pristine clothes.

"That was more than one," he scolds.

"I got a little carried away," she admits sheepishly. "And besides, I'm alright. See?" Spreading her arms, she turns in a little circle, the plentiful skirts of her dress twirling in tandem. "No harm done."

"Even so, we had an agreement."

With over-exaggerated annoyance, she assents, taking his offered arm and following him past those eagerly preparing for the next dance, past Carver and Merrill with arms wrapped around each other; past Anders and Bethany who are speaking to one of their associates from the Circle Karl Thekla; past Sebastian who is instructing Isabela on the next dance; past her parents who smile and wave at them as they walk by; and past Seamus Dumar, who is excitedly introducing his friend Ashaad to a couple of bewildered looking people.

They do not go to Aveline's office, but one of the other rooms located outside of the throne room where the sounds of revelry grow fainter. Away from the energy and excitement of it all, fatigue does grip her a little, a strange feeling accompanying it, but she ignores it, not wanting to worry Fenris any more than she already has.

She ventures a question as they bass through the room onto the balcony, noticing his odd silence and fixed gaze on her. "You haven't been enjoying this, have you?"

"Parties can be... wearying. But this has been...nice. I have enjoyed spending the evening with you." He looses her arm and leans on the balcony, staring out into the star speckled night sky.

Joining him, she puts her weight on one arm and threads her other one through his."Ever improving upon that flattery of yours, I see."

His head dips, bashful smile crossing his features.

"Bethany and Anders seem very happy," she mentions, genuinely glad to see her little sister so taken with her good friend. They make a nice couple.

"Yes, they do. It was very generous of the Viscount for offering to host Anders and your sister's engagement party."

"We have Seamus to thank for that." She leans on the stone railing next to him, shoulders brushing. "She used to talk about getting married all the time as a child. She was always afraid that she'd never get the chance, being a mage on the run from the Circle."

"And now she has, thanks to the changes they've made. I overheard Isabela taking bets on which Hawke sibling would be getting married next."

"Meddlesome pirate. Doesn't she have anything better to do? Like raid a few noble vessels, or piss of the Qunari again, something? Though if the way Carver and Merrill were looking at each other was any indication, I'd put them up there." He slips an arm around her face, speaking into the gathered up tresses of her hair.

"I may have let slip that my bet was on us."

Burying her face in the crook of his neck, she laughs quietly, face burning with the intensity of her blush.

"Is that so? I suppose I'll have to change my wager. When were you planning on telling me we were throwing the competition?" Her heart is racing as she casually flirts, as it always does when she's around him.

"Now." He draws her face up to his, noses touching, lips just a breath away. "Marry me."

Part of her wants to laugh, surely this must be a joke. He's too used to picking up and leaving, running if the odds are not in his favor, it's all he's ever known. Marriage is too much of a commitment, isn't it? If she laughs now, she can hide how much she wants this to be true.

She opens her mouth to ask if he's being sincere, but he presses his mouth to hers. The contact is weakening. She has never been able to resist him. She has always wanted this. Nothing else matters now.

"Marry me, Ava," he demands.

Ava.

Her blood turns to ice.

She shoves him away, lurching back.

"_'Ava'_? Why did you call me that? That's not my name." She's stumbling away, and he's following, reaching after her. "You've never called me anything but 'Hawke'."

"Come back to me," he commands, extending his arms. Something is wrong about him, something terribly obvious. How did she not see that before? He looks different. His hair is parted wrong and his eyes aren't set right on his face- everything about him is off.

"This-this isn't right, you aren't right," she's shaking her head, quickly approaching the corner of the balcony. Out of the corner of her eye she notices her friends and family filing in. They look wrong too. The world is changing, shifting and twisting.

"Listen to him, darling," her Father prods, reaching for her, beckoning her forward. "Come here, don't run from us."

"No." Vivid snippets of the past flash in her mind. Her father, as he was when she had last seen him, smiling, unaware of what was to come. "You're... you're dead, Father. I remember your last words. You told me I was in charge then. I was responsible for keeping everyone safe." Her little sister draws closer. "I failed. Bethany, I couldn't save you either."

"That was all a bad dream, Sister," she tries to mollify. "Everything is fine now. All is well."

"No. It isn't. Mother, you're gone too. I wasn't fast enough." Mother shakes her head. "Listen to us. This is how things should be. You saved us all, remember?"

She ignores the fake consolation. "And you, Carver, you've been tainted. You had to leave. I sent you to that slow death." He gives her a lopsided grin. "Stop being dramatic, Sister. Crack one of your stupid jokes and let's get back to the party."They keep encroaching upon her. "I failed you. This isn't right. This is an illusion."

Clarity hits her like a force blast and she remembers everything, where she is truly. What the reality of the situation is. In light of her understanding she ceases to cower, standing up straight and holding out her hands to ward the invasive beings back.

"Away from me demons, in the Maker's name! 'The one who repents, who has faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world, she shall know true peace!'"

Collectively, they all draw back with the exception of one, who continues to draw closer, eyes set on her.

"'O Maker, hear my cry: Guide me through the blackest nights, steel my-" Fenris grabs her by the neck, cutting her off mid chant, hoisting her off the ground and tossing her through the air like a rag doll. She lands on the flat, cold stones of the balcony, rolling into the barrier surrounding the edge. Her dress twists around her legs, ripping as she goes.

"That does work on my minions, but not on me."

She scrambles to her feet, attempting to throw up a magical barrier, but nothing comes. "Danarius. I should have known. You're a terrible actor, you know."

He tsks, and with a wave of his hand the demons wear her friends' guises no more. They hiss and jeer at her. Danarius, however, does not change. He pretends to be Fenris but now his semblance is obvious. Fenris would never stare at her with those cold eyes. He is not capable of such cruelty, despite it being visited upon him by the monster in front of her.

"Ah. I was too eager. Gave myself away. Pity, really, it was great fun. You have such beautiful dreams, full of color and life. And what quaint hopes you have: surrounded by the ones you love, all happy and safe." He reaches out and brushes the face of one of the Shades, making it's form flicker briefly into that of her her little sister. "And you remember people so vividly, even with all the time that has passed." She sneers at him, forcing down the urge to tear his arms off for touching Bethany. 'Not her, that's not her' she reminds herself, even as the thing leans into the magister's touch, an expression of ecstasy on it's face.

"Release me from this hallucination."

"I could feel how much you _wanted_ me. How your body warmed to mine. Do not pretend you felt nothing."

She nearly gags. "You're _disgusting_."

"I'm _right_. There's no need to be afraid. Come back to me. You've suffered so much. This doesn't have to be unpleasant for you. We can work together. We can be together."

His offer might be tempting if he wasn't included. Seeing her family again, everyone safe and sound...

But it's a lie. It will always be a lie, no matter how much she wants it to be true.

"Get away from me. You know what my answer is." She hoists herself onto the stone rail, swinging her legs over the side. "Release me or I will make my own way out."

"You will give in, one way or another, I assure you my little bird."

The sky begins to melt, stars falling in fiery streaks.

She jolts upward wrenching her arms from the twisted mess of her blankets. A dream. All a dream. "In, out, in, out," she breathes, trying to dispel the lingering terror of the dream. The faces of her family and friends. Fenris...

Alba enters, looking surprised to see her awake.

"_Bonum manum_, Ava. The Master calls for you."

With a weary sigh, she drags herself out of bed and readies herself for another day of work.

* * *

Author's Note: Ah! Sorry for the late post guys! Life always seems to get in the way you really want to write. Anywhere, here is 26. Would you believe we're only a little over the projected length of this piece of crap story?

Hope you guys are still liking it! Please leave reviews if you have any thoughts, ideas, or criticism to share. I'm open to all!

Next up: Carver finally stops throwing up. Thank the Maker! Stay tuned!


	27. Chapter 27

.xxvii.

The stars shine overhead brightly. Carver gazes up into the sky, glad to sleep underneath it for a change as opposed to some dank, dark passage of the Deep Roads, or some Keep or the other. He enjoys it while he can, thoughts on the last few weeks and all that has brought him to this point. He is worried for his sister, but his thoughts linger on Merrill. If at all possible, she's become even prettier then when he had seen her last, traipsing through the Deep Roads wit her, his sister, and Fenris after some crazed mega dark spawn. Being a Warden has been a challenge, to say the least. He had always wanted to go out and make a new path for himself, but he had never expected to find it among tainted brothers and sisters in the Blight. It wasn't his choice, not really, but he didn't regret it one bit.

Except for the times when homesickness and sweet Dalish girls did make him regret it, a little.

A shadow passes over his reclined body. He tears himself from his reverie and and he tilts his head to identify the source.

"Fenris."

"Carver."

The elf sits cross legged next to him, leaning back against a crate. They sit in silence, both staring into the murky dark sky, lost in thought. He studies his stargazing companion out of the corner of his eye, wondering what it is that his sister is so taken by in this person. He's acerbic and sardonic, with a face that belies his sour attitude and a heap of problems. It doesn't make sense. By all accounts, he would expect her to be more taken with the ex-prince of Starkhaven, or even man-baby mage, but this one? An fugitive elven slave? It's like she was going for the most difficult romance she could.

"Is there a reason why you're staring at me?" Fenris asks, not taking his eyes off the sky. He has the sudden reckless urge to ask a question he probably shouldn't.

"When did you fall in love with my sister?"

The question catches him so off guard that his head snaps to the side and his eyebrows rise so high they nearly launch off his forehead. "What did you say?"

"I know you are, so don't deny it. What I want to know is when it happened, and why you haven't just admitted it to her yet."

His mouth works, but the words are slow to follow. It's actually kind of entertaining to see the usually stoic elf bumble.

"That's not- that has nothing to do with you! In the event that you are right. Which you are not."

"Sure," he smirks. This incenses the already irate elf even more.

"I do care for your sister," he admits, though he sounds pained to do so. "But what we had is over. She has moved on, and I as well. What I feel for her-felt for her, that's not important anymore."

"You are so full of nug shit," Carver sighs, throwing an arm over his face to hide his grin. He can feel the rage radiating from the form next to him. "Neither of you have moved anywhere! You're still lurking around like a bad copper, and she's blinded to everyone who isn't you. You honestly think because you told her to get lost that she'd just go find someone else?"

"I did not. What I did was for us both. It is better this way. I..." he grits his teeth. "She should have someone who suits her."

"You're a blighted idiot! The only person she's ever cared for like this is you!" His feigned ire is starting to become real at the elf's false humility or whatever it is he's using to justify his moronic reasoning. "You think you're doing her a favor by keeping your distance and telling her to find someone better? Because you're not. Look at what's happened! It's so obvious to everyone else how much she cares for you that she was kidnapped by your pursuers!"

"That is exactly why I cannot be with her!" His roared words attract the attention of the few crewmen still awake. He restrains himself with visible effort. "I make her vulnerable."

Carver doesn't even bother. "No, that's exactly why you _should!_ You're not a coward, so don't act like one! She'd be vulnerable with or without you! People you care about don't make you weak. They give you strength. So stop making up excuses."

To his surprise, Fenris turns away, offering no opposing words, just silence. His impromptu talking to must have had some effect. What luck.

"She was the first to aid me without question," he speaks quietly. "I asked for her help and she gave it without a second thought. And then she gave her friendship. She has given me much, more than I could ever repay." Fenris flexes his fingers, lines of lyrium catching the moonlight. "In return I have brought her nothing but hardship and heartache. It is better that I remain as I am, as a friend, to aid her when she needs me."

"Ugh!" he huffs, sitting up and throwing his arms out in irritation. "No it's not, you idiot. Don't you get it! I know my sister, and I know she'd rather have you and all the trouble that you bring than your services as guard dog. Admit it- you're afraid."

"I am not afraid!" he shoots back, in the exact tone of someone who is afraid. He seems to realizes this and snaps his mouth shut, grimacing.

"You are," he states again, earning himself a withering look.

"As much as I appreciate you calling me a craven fool, I will take my leave now." Fenris moves to leave.

"Look, just," Carver tries a different approach, sensing the need to renew his efforts, "just talk to her. Even if I'm wrong about this, it's better to resolve it then leave it like an open wound. My Sister has never gotten over it. When she writes me, she talks about you more than I think she's aware of." No teasing, just truth. The elf seems to take notice of his earnest words. "You say you've moved on: that's your business. But she hasn't. If you truly want to move on, you have to lay it to rest." Wise words from his mentor, Stroud, regurgitated at the appropriate time. They had helped him when he had first become a Warden. Perhaps they could help Fenris now.

He screws his face up, apparently mulling over what advice he has been offered. "You may be right."

"Finally, someone says it."

Fenris snorts. "Don't get used to it. It is a rare occurrence."

"Ha, ha, very funny."

Silence descends again and they focus intently on the dark, puffy clouds roiling in the sky, shrouding the moon. It reminds him of Lothering. The clouds looked the same when it was about to rain. Bethany used to love when it rained. A pang of sorrowful nostalgia resonates in his chest at the thought.

"I will consider what you've said. Assuming we find her unharmed, I will 'put it to rest'."

"You're a right ray of sunshine," Carver scowls. "But I'm glad to hear it. Now..." he stands and stretches, yawn escaping. "I'm going to bed."

"Try not to throw up in the bunk again," Fenris advises, smug smile in his voice. He stays where he is, sitting cross legged on the deck, looking out over the rolling waves.

"That was one time," Carver grumbles in response, making his way below decks. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He collapses into his bunk feeling rather satisfied with himself. His sister owes him one. Though really, he just hopes she's still alive to pay her debts.

* * *

Author's Note: Aw, brother bonding time. I had intended for something like this to happen earlier on, but it just sort of ended up happening on the ship, under the stars, with these two idiots yelling at each other. Such dorks, why do I love them so much!?

IDRK-It'sme: A new face! Or name, rather. I'm glad you hate him! Truth be told, I did not expect him to end up as malignant as I wrote him. He's just an insane creep. There isn't anything you can do to sugar coat that. I promise, he will get exactly what he deserves. Or at least, I hope it's more satisfying than what the game gave us.

MC: I missed you! AH! I was about to send out the search parties, honestly. I hope you're feeling better, and that it wasn't anything serious!

You are right about Hawke, though. I've written her as a little to accepting of the situation. In hindsight, she would be a little more rebellious, I think. It's something I'm hoping to fix retroactively, but I also wanted to convey the fact that she really in under Danarius' thumb, with any attempts at a escape being unrealistic, or so suicidal that they would end up being last ditch efforts. Hopefully the upcoming chapters will clear that up a bit. But I do want to go back and make some changes.

As to the dream, and his creeping on Hawke, oh yeah, it's definitely a power thing. I think, regardless of race or gender, that Danarius would be the most attracted to people of strong will, viewing them as the ultimate conquest, something else I will elaborate upon in a little bit. And the party! Brilliant! I had originally intended for her to drag her around in some lavish gown or something, but I think that would be treating her too much like a human being, when the whole purpose of the thing is to show her off as his possession. About her being an arcane warrior: in my continuity, I'd like to think that Warden Amell learned the specialization, wrote it down, and maybe passed it on to Anders who then passed it on to her or something of the sort. I spend too much time thinking about these people, really. Your criticism is gold, I've missed it so much! Thank you!

Next up: We learn that all is not as Hawke thought it was. Which is really not good. Sit tight, guys!


	28. Chapter 28

.xxviii.

"Ah, excellent job, Alba," Master smiles graciously, going through her meticulously arranged accounting of all expenses of the party. "You continue to impress with your loyal service."

"Thank you, Master."

"I want to ensure, however, that Magisters Cornelia and Flavia are kept to separate ends of the function. I do not need need them fighting each other again. Last time we had to replace all of the curtains, and Magister Salvatore's eyebrows never grew back quite right."

"I will ensure it."

"See to it that all of the guests coming from father away receive their invitations in time. And that the proper accommodations are made. There is enough room here on the estate to give them all their own rooms. I would like as many guests as possible to stay and admire my little bird."

"It will be done, Master."

"I do so enjoy how obedient you are. It is good to remember that, sometimes I look at you and see how plain you are. Then I question why I bother keeping you around at all!" He laughs heartily, and she dips her head in agreement, long ago hardened to his cruel words. She feels nothing.

He grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her head back, planting long, harsh kisses on her impassive face, sliding his tongue down her neck. She forces herself not to flinch at the the scratch of his beard against her skin, his revolting touch. Without warning he pushes her away, and she hits the floor, sliding painfully across the tiles.

"I don't want you."

She stands slowly, head dipped hesitant and unwilling to draw his attention as he sulks around the room, sneer on his face.

"It is Ava whom I want, and yet even now she resists me. She is so much like him. Such resilience. It is delicious. So tempting to simply take what I please, but it is far more entertaining to watch them come to me on their knees..." he trails his fingers across the spines of his multitude of tomes. "It is of little consequence, however, I have set in motion plans that will guarantee all is as I will it. You may go now, and continue your work."

She bows low, and backs out of his study, pulling the doors shut as she leaves. His voice sounds from within, and for a second, she's sure the Master has called her back, so she reopens the doors slightly, listening for his voice. But it is not her he's calling for.

"Varania."

"I am here," a woman responds, drawing from the shadows.

"You're cloaking spells are improving. Well done."

"Thank you Master."

"How goes your search? Have you learned anything of import?" Sounds of bare footsteps, light and sure.

"My brother and his friends did find the trail. They were preparing to leave Kirkwall for Minrathous when I last received word."

"Mm. Wonderful. Exactly as I had hoped. Though I must admit I was concerned that we had left too little evidence for them to follow."

"They are not fools. They are also not a force to take lightly. They are powerful, and plenty. And of course, very devoted to their friend." She speaks factually, with a hint of distaste. "Tread carefully."

"Of course. I did not get where I am by being foolhardy." A pause, muted movement, the rustling of robes. "You have truly proven yourself to have the mettle necessary to call yourself an apprentice. Perhaps the title of Magister is next."

"That is my intent."

The wood creaks slightly under her hands, not enough to draw attention, thankfully, but enough to break her out of her shocked stupor. Noiselessly, she draws away from the door, quickly leaving, burdened under the weight of her revelation. Part of her wants to keep it secret. She knows how to keep secrets, it is a skill she has perfected over the years, but another part of her, strange and uncommon, wants to tell Ava. Even if there is nothing she can do about it, at least she deserves to know. Alba makes up her mind as she approaches the slave quarters, laughter from within distracting her for a moment.

Inside, Ava is entertaining the other slaves with her good spirits and equally terrible jokes, in botched Tevene, somehow understandable, if barely. If there is one flaw to be named in the woman, it is her sense of humor. Balazs smiles the brightest at her stories, and Alba feels jealousy twinging in her heart. She has always been the one to make her little brother smile. It is not a pleasant feeling to share his attention.

"So: Do not chase the angry Mabari while holding candelabra, or it will be ending in a not good way."

Everyone laughs, though some of the older slaves look completely confused. She grins widely, though the act makes her sunken eyes and cheeks look even more evident. Under the edges of her tattered sleeves there are new livid red wounds lining her thin arms.

"No more stories now, or you will be too tired to reproach." Everyone looks at her quizzically.

"Ah, no, not reproach, work." Her verbal blunder just earns her more laughter.

There is a great deal of chatter afterward, some companionable pats on the back from the others, and the floor clears of the sitting spectators, all heading off to their cots and niches for sleep. Alba moves forward through the dispersing crowd to her work desk.

"Alba! Glad to see you!" Ava slumps into a chair near her small desk table, crossing her long legs and leaning back with forced ease. Her limbs tremble as she does, though her smile never falters. "Though you missed the fun." Balazs comes over as well, smiling more than she has ever seen before.

"Ava tells very funny stories."

"Ah, the truth is I stole most from my friend. His stories are very funny. One time-"

"That is wonderful, Balazs. Now do as she says and prepare for bed."

He looks hurt to be waved away, and Ava confused at her interruption, but does as he is told, with a quiet "Goodnight," to the both of them.

"You look upset. Something is wrong?" Ava's face darkens. "Danarius is-"

"There is something I should tell you."

"Please speak. I am made of ears." Alba blinks uncomprehendingly. Ava shakes her head. "What do you want to say?"

She sits across from the woman keeping her voice low, scanning for eavesdroppers as she begins to speak. "I overheard the Master discussing your Fenris."

Ava bolts upright, leaning close across the table. "What does he say?"

"I believe he has lied to you. I heard him speaking to someone- it sounds as though he plans to recapture him."

The easy laughter is gone from her face. She looks deadly. Without noticing, she switches back to her native tongue, cursing profusely. "That bastard. I should have known. I was a fool to believe he would keep his end of the bargain."

"I tell you this as your friend so you will not be shocked when it happens. Please do not fight the Master's will. I do not want to see you hurt. You are the only other person I have ever considered a friend."

Ava stares at her with a look she's never seen despite the woman's expressive face, something very different than what she has become accustomed to.

"Thank you, Alba. I am glad you consider me a friend. I am... honored to call you my friend as well." The woman rises steadily and leaves without another word.

She had promised nothing.

Alba wishes she had not spoken at all.

* * *

Author's Note: Surprise! I bet you guys didn't see that coming, did you? Danarius being a dishonorable piece of crap! Unbelievable, right? Hahaha, they're going to need a new word for hate when I'm finished writing this. Do you guys ever write something that disgusts you so much that you just have to stop for a second? Yeah, that's what I did with this chapter. Seriously detest this guy.

darksoulrose: Wow! You made me blush! I'm really happy that you like it! The crew definitely will be party crashing. How could they miss an opportunity like that? I can see it now- Aveline, Isabela, and Merrill all in dressy Tevinter style ball gowns. The boys in crushed velvet formal wear, or something equally horrible. It'll be great. Thank you so much for the follow!

To all of you who have consistently supported and encouraged me, I can't thank you enough! Your presence fuels my creativity. This is for all of you:D

Next up: Hawke is tired of these motherf*cking snakes on this motherf*cking plane. The crew finally arrives in Tevinter, and Anders is not as impressed as he thought he would be. Will he realize that there has to be compromise between mages and non mages? Will Fenris kill someone before chapter's end? Who's this weirdo yelling at them in the streets of Minrathous? Stay tuned!


	29. Chapter 29

.xxix.

Anders watches the rising sun as it sparkles across the water. He hopes the sight will awakening him; proper sleep has eluded him for weeks now. At his request, Justice has continues to search for her in the Fade, but to no avail. All he can do is pray that she's unharmed.

"You were right Bela," Varric congratulates as the Minrathous skyline appears on the horizon, "Your lovely _Siren_ did not disappoint." He turns to the coastline. He looks out over the tops of tall buildings, bringing himself to his feet. Fenris appears seemingly from nowhere, brows drawn and face dark. He does not look happy to be home. Anders however, aside from the obvious anxiety over his dearest friend, is curious about finally setting foot in the country where being a mage doesn't get you immediately jailed.

"I know my ships." She looks incredibly pleased with herself. "She handled those straits very well too. I think I'm in love."

"Thank the Maker we're almost there," Carver moans, still looking a little green. Merrill pats his arm reassuringly.

"So am I. If I have to hear you void your stomach one more time," Sebastian frowns, looking a little nauseous himself.

"Looks like you're going to have to," Isabela points out as Carver dives for the prow.

"That brings the grand total to 16, I think,"Varric smirks, holding out a hand to Isabela, who grudgingly drops some silvers into his palm. "Ah, returning investments. Worth the risk."

"Gather round everyone," Aveline commands, waving them into the center of the deck. "Except you Carver. You stay downwind from us for the time being."

"I hate you all," he snarls, and then heaves himself back over the edge, coughing sickeningly.

Aveline waits until they've all settled before she begins to speak. "Aside from what we learned back in Kirkwall, we have virtually no leads, and no clues to pursue."

"That's very grim," sighs Merrill, her attention not entirely on the conversation.

"I know. However, we do have the benefit of being virtually unknown here. It may give us the element of surprise. We must be careful not to give that up. Fenris," his eyes snap from the coastline to the redhead, "You are not to leave this ship unless under the cover of night. Same for you, Merrill. And even then, I expect you to travel with one of us."

Fenris assents. "Being an elf alone in Tevinter is not wise."

"When we dock, I want you to stay below decks, just to be safe. Isabela, I'd like you to stay here and keep an eye on things."

"Fine by me," the Rivaini woman shrugs, though her frown belies her true thoughts.

"I assume that means you'll be scouting the city while we stay behind?" Merrill asks.

Varric pats her comfortingly, sensing her frustration at being left behind. "We're going to go poke around, ask some questions, see if anyone knows anything."

"Maybe bash some heads if need be," Anders adds in a low voice.

Isabela laughs. "That comes later. Don't speed up the itinerary or we'll miss the good parts."

"We'll be back when we've finished our sweep. From there. We'll plan our next move."

"Hopefully it will involve aforementioned head bashing," Varric grins.

It isn't much later when they finally dock, crew cheering loudly and knocking into each other like rowdy children. Aveline wastes no time with revelry, though she does look happy to be on land again, and they set off immediately.

"Tevinter is not what I imagined it to be..." Anders comments, watching people work magic on the streets as if it is nothing. One nobleman lights a fire with a flick of his wrist, a beautifully adorned lady chills drinks with ice and hands them to her excited children. Despite this liberty, the impoverished roam the streets, vastly outnumbering the affluent. It seems like only those with magic are well off, while everyone else...

It is not exactly what he had hoped for.

"A little hot for my tastes," Sebastian pants, fanning himself. "How does anyone live in this heat? Is it always like this?" He doesn't get an answer, just a few moans of agreement.

"Over there, look, the dock overseer," Aveline points. "I'll go ask him if he's seen anything."

Despite not having been asked, Anders joins her, leaving Carver and the two rogues behind.

"I don't need an entourage," she throws over her shoulder as he skips a little to catch up with her.

"Buddy system." He shrugs with a small smile.

She sighs, but allows him to accompany her.

.

Hours later, and he swears he's getting deja vu. Of all the people they've asked after Hawke, most have ignored them, some have skittered away in apparent fear, while a small portion have admitted to knowing nothing. Like Kirkwall all over again. At this point, it will take them another odd-sum weeks to get any closer to finding her. He hadn't expected to find her immediately after reaching port, but even a snippet of information would be Maker-sent.

"Hey Varric," Carver begins in a teasing voice as they walk down a wide cobblestone street through throngs of shoppers, "Why don't you rub a little of that dwarven luck on us or something. We're getting nowhere fast."

"'Dwarven luck'? Where the hell did you get that shit?"

Carver's formulating an answer when someone yells at them from across the way. "You! You- people!" A tall, lanky blonde man is charging at them, unclear in his intent, yelling in Common, surprisingly. Anders is immediately wary.

"Can we help you?" Carver asks, voice sharp. The blonde sizes them up, sweeping his hair back with an indignant huff. He looks incredibly self important.

"There is no need for such a tone, I am here to aid you."

"Just how do you plan to do that? And who are you, for that matter?" Anders asks, tone clipped.

"The slave you've been asking about all afternoon; I've seen her. I know where you can find her. My name is Primus, and I owe her my life."

Not surprising to hear that. If he had a copper for every person he'd ever heard claim that Hawke 'saved their life', he'd have enough to travel around Thedas several times.

"Where?" Carver immediately demands, voice mingling with Varric's suspicious "Why?"

Aveline shushes them. "Why tell us this? What do you benefit from it?"

"As I said, she saved my life. I am indebted to her. That, and I would very much like to see her master suffer."

"Master?" echoes Carver, face contorting, "She really has been taken as a slave?"

"Yes. She is the legal property of Magister Danarius. It is my understanding you intend to free her, yes?" The man looks hopeful for an answer in the affirmative.

Varric smirks. "Wouldn't be very smart to admit it if we were, would it?"

"No, I suppose not. By hypothetically, if this were your intent, I could tell you when the best time to attempt this would be, and other vital information."

They silently consider his offer, casting each other opinion laden looks they had long since perfected in their years of working and fighting together. Nobody seems incredibly opposed to the idea. It's a little concerning that they've been so readily approached by someone willing to help, but at this point, they've come too far to turn away from what might be exactly what they need. Or a trap.

"We have little choice on the matter," Aveline admits. "It's not as if we can storm the gates and take her back by force, not on unfamiliar ground."

"Danarius is throwing a gala event in several weeks to show off his new prize. He invited me." He produces the invitation from a pocket on his leather belt, jingling bottles of lyrium as he does so. The paper is thick and flecked with shining metal, incredibly expensive looking. "An insult. But I will use this against him, if you will lend me your strength."

"Revenge plots rarely end well," Sebastian whispers, speaking from experience, no doubt.

"Then do not think of it as 'revenge'," Primus huffs. "Think of it as a better plan to free your friend than whatever you had planned before."

"He's not wrong," Carver mutters.

"We will consider your offer. Where can we meet you with our decision?" Aveline asks.

"There is a tavern, _Aureum Stellata_. Come to me there when you are ready to discuss a plan of action."

Without so much as a word of goodbye, Primus turns and walks away, imperious and haughty in stride.

"Well he's certainly sure of himself, isn't he?" Anders comments as they watch the man's retreating form.

"I don't know if the tides have turned in our favor, or if this is too good to be true," sighs Aveline, shaking her head.

"I think it might be just we need, actually," Varric says. "Did you hear what the Magister's name was?"

"Danarius?" Sebastian supplies. "Why? Do you know the name?"

"Unfortunately. And I also know who'd not going to be happy to hear it."

They all seem to realize in stunned silence. Fenris. His former master.

This will not be good.

.

It's exactly as he expected.

When they return to the ship hours later, sun falling over the city late into the night, Merrill, Isabela, and Fenris all abandon their game of Wicked Grace expectantly, meeting them at the gangplank.

"Did you find anything?" Merrill asks. "You look like you found something. Something- oh no. It's not good is it?"

"Please share. We need some exciting news, it's been too quiet on the ship," Isabela jokes, but Merrill's suspicions have distressed her. Fenris remains quiet and motionless, perched on the edge of a crate, waiting for answers.

"Yes, we think we may have found something. But," Varric spares Fenris a cautious look, "you're not going to like it."

"Please, just tell us," Merrill implores, looking more and more worried by the second.

Anders cant stand the way the dwarf is tiptoeing around their revelation, so he simply says it: "Hawke has been claimed as a slave of..." he steels himself for the soon to come explosion, "Magister Danarius."

A pin could drop and make a resounding clatter the deck goes so silent.

"Nice going," Varric sarcastically commends as Fenris visibly quakes with anger, rising from his seat and stalking across the deck. The crewmen milling about quickly find other places to be.

"Where?" His gritted words are more of a demand than a question. "Where is she?!"

"Take it easy Broody," Varric attempts to calm him, but immediately snaps his mouth shut when the elf's lethal glare turns to him.

Aveline steps forward, hands up in petition. "It's not as bad as it sounds-"

"'Not as bad as it sounds?' Do you have any idea what you're saying? Do you understand what she faces even as we waste time here, speaking?! If this is the truth, she is in the worst danger she has ever faced in her life!"

"I don't know," Isabela mumbles. "That high dragon gave her a run for her money." Her humor is not appreciated.

"The man who told us this wants to help us set her free," Anders adds. "He seems to hate your old master as much as you do."

"Who is he?" Isabela asks, crossing her arms tellingly.

"A man who goes by 'Primus'. That's all we learned," Sebastian answers quickly. "Everything he told us seemed true. I don't think he was lying."

"He also told us that this magister is hosting some sort of event. Apparently, that will be the best time to break in and get my Sister back."

"And you trust him?" Merrill questions.

"It's a little too early in the relationship for trust," Varric smirks. "But he's the only lead we have. And like Choir Boy said, he seemed pretty earnest. I think we have a good shot."

"We will work with him," Fenris confirms, tone not leaving the statement open for debate, if anyone were brave enough to attempt it. "If he turns on us we will kill him and whomever he serves. We cannot leave Hawke-" his breath hitches. "We cannot leave her where she is. She is in worse danger than you can know."

"I'm with Broody," agrees Varric. "If this is a trap, it's by the same people holding Hawke hostage. Either way, we'll end up on the right path to her. We can't pass it up."

"Any opposed?" Carver offers, knowing full well not one of them will speak.

"Sounds like we're crashing a party, then," Isabela comments blithely. "What fun."

Fenris turns on his heel and disappears below decks. No one goes after him.

He may not like the elf very much, but in this moment, Anders feels for him.

Whatever he fears for her, though, cannot be as bad as whatever fate might await her in one of the Circles.

* * *

Author's Note: This one is dedicated to my da vhenan, who reminded me I needed to post a chapter.

Avatarfan444: You were close enough! And yes, Danarius is the human embodiment of a landfill.

MC: I don't plan on things going past a 'T' rating, but if you feel it's necessary, I would definitely put a warning on. Yes, Tevinter is a pretty awful place, wrapped up in bows. I don't think Anders will see it immediately, but will realize it more and more. And as for Hawke, he'll beef her up before the party somehow. Though arguably, it might be better for him to show how much hes weakened her. Who knows?

Everyone else: Thank you for your continued support! I love logging in and seeing all the messages!

Soon to come: What is Hawke going to do about Danarius' betrayal? Stay tuned and find out!


	30. Chapter 30

.xxx.

Hawke can't sleep.

Fury keeps her up into the night. She paces, and when she physically cannot bring herself to do so anymore, she collapses on her bed, arms spread, legs hanging over edge and toes grazing the dirt floor. Her head is spinning, though if it is Alba's revelation or the scant meals she's been allotted, there is no telling. It's difficult just to lie there, every muscle in her body aches. And so, so very tired.

She shouldn't be as irate as she is, she had been quietly formulating a plan of escape. It had been her intent to find some way to escape early on in the first days of her servitude, but her plans had been quickly shot down: Danarius had the only key to the collar that kept her power bottled up, and to escape him would mean death by the thing before she could find someone skilled enough to remove it without killing her.

"Bastard," she hisses for what may be the millionth time, voice soft and nonthreatening in the least. She is so weak. Even lying stationary on the bed seems a challenge. And she has done this to herself out of her foolish pride. Perhaps she was wrong in thinking that they could not protect themselves. Whatever she mistakenly thought before, doesn't matter. "I should just kill him."

She will kill him.

It abruptly becomes clear to her what she must do. She cannot escape him without dying, and abandoning the other slaves to their continued subservience, and that is not an option. The way things are, either she dies trying to get away from him, dies serving the monster for the rest of her life, however long that may be. But the third choice: she dies. But she takes him with her.

The pieces begin to fall into place. It's not as if she hasn't faced death before. This is no different. She'll have the best chance at his masquerade. He had informed her days ago that she would be dressed and displayed for all to see, and that she was expected to behave. A possession. A pet. If Danarius intended to drag her around all evening, certainly at some point she could find a way to end his life. And in doing so, she can protect Fenris, protect all of them. Fix her foolish mistake.

"You won't have him, you snake," she breathes, picking herself up.

It is a tremendous effort, but she makes it to the main room of the slave quarters, carefully shuffling around the sleeping forms of those unfortunate without real beds. Quietly, she takes a quill, ink pot, and blank piece of crumpled parchment from Alba's desk, sneaking back to her own curtained space. By the light of the moon, she begins her last letter, cross legged on the floor, in the dirt.

_My dearest companions,_

_If this letter finds you, then I have died, hopefully successful in my mission._

_I tried to protect you all. Perhaps I was a fool for not thinking you capable of protecting yourselves. I had hoped that in signing myself over to Danarius' possession that I would be able to escape and warn you of the danger coming especially you, Fenris. I could not bear to see you in his clutches again, I couldn't. I overestimated my abilities. That doesn't matter now, though, if I have done what I came here to do._

_This is my last letter to you. An apology for the last, and a thank you._

_Varric, I'm sorry for the anticlimactic ending to this tale. Feel to use your artistic license to make it more interesting. Something involving dragons. Lots of dragons. Possibly me as a dragon, just a thought. Thank you for telling my story, and for letting me be part of yours._

_Aveline, take good care of Kirkwall for me, please? That suicidal city has grown on me. Live long and get old with Donnic. Have lots of redheaded babies. I was fortunate to encounter you when escaping Lothering. Thank you for your friendship, even when it wasn't so convenient for you._

_Anders, behave yourself while I'm gone. Take care of yourself, too. There is no mage rights movement if there's no one behind it. Thank you for teaching me so much. I'll miss working in the clinic with you. Stay safe._

_Isabela, I hope your days on the sea are long and many, Captain. I knew I always said I'd visit Antiva with you. Rain check? Don't anger any more religious sects, please. Thank you for all the fun, and for dragging me home when I had too much to drink._

_Merrill, keep working on those spells we practiced. I think you were on the verge of something great. Make sure to go out and get some sun, or you'll wilt. I'll never forget all of our talks, thank you for telling me so much about your people. And don't let one mistake foil you. I believe in you._

_Sebastian, follow your heart. If you do only what you think is expected of you and not what you want, you'll never find contentment. Trust the Maker. He knows what he's doing better than we do. Thank you for your guidance exactly when I needed I, I have no doubt the Maker made sure our paths would cross. May Andraste guide you._

_Carver, I'll miss you. I'm sorry we didn't always agree. And I'm sorry for letting the last of the Hawke line fall on your shoulders. Thank you for putting up with me all those years, little brother. I'll say hello to everyone for you._

_Gamlen &amp; Charade, take good care of each other. You have a lot of lost time to make up for. I'm sorry we never got to know each other as well as I would have liked, Charade. You are everything I wanted in a cousin. Gamlen, remember what's important. Thank you for everything._

_Fenris,_

This one is the hardest to write. The quill hovers over the paper, shaking. There is so much she wants to say, so much she wants to tell him. There aren't words for how much she cares about him, and not enough space at the bottom of the paper she has filled with shaking scrawl. How can she tell him how sorry she is for selfishly pursuing him, and subsequently repulsing him? How sorry she is for taking advantage of him when it was so much wiser to stay away?

_Fenris, I'll miss you dearly. You deserve more than you have been given. It has always been my desire to give you everything I could. I hope you find happiness, and peace. I will always hold our times together close to my heart. Thank you for everything, and, I'm sorry._

_I wish I could say more to all of you. Too many words and too little space. My father used to tell me: no goodbyes, just good memories. I've never much liked goodbyes, so that will have to do._

_I love you all._

_Aleka Hawke_

She signs the crinkled paper with finality, folding it delicately and holding it close, parting with the last delusions of seeing them again. Letting go of the last of lingering hope.

It hurts, but there is no other way.

"Ugh, how disgustingly sentimental," she chuckles quietly, swiping away a few tears.

She folds the wrinkled paper carefully and tucks it in her bodice, close to her heart. And then she begins to prepare herself for the end.

* * *

Author's Note: Agh! Writing this one was terrible. Fenris :'(

MC: Wow, you really think so! I didn't know if I wanted him throwing people over board, or bottling it up. Guess I picked the right one!

To my new followers/faves: I see you guys there:D And I'm happy to see each of you! Thank you very much!

Next chapter: The Merry Band decides to work with Primus. What will they learn? How long before Fenris snaps and kills someone? Does Varric's chest hair go grey when he's anxious? Stay tuned!


	31. Chapter 31

.xxxi.

When they enter the _Aureum Stellata _the next night, the bartender immediately sizes them up and waves them into a back room, swiftly closing the door behind them. Sebastian is watchful, well aware of the possibility of betrayal, even though it seems unlikely. Primus had seemed to ready for revenge, he knew the fire that burned in that young man's eyes very well. He sees it in the mirror all the time.

Everyone else is present, even Fenris and Merrill, who wear heavy hooded cloaks to hide themselves, and are surrounded by the others at all times. Thankfully, the clenching sensation that often appears at the base of his spine indicative of danger is absent.

"So far, still alive," comments Bela, but he doesn't miss how her hands twitch for her daggers, eyes flicking towards every noise, every drunken shout of the patrons a room over, every subtle shift of her companions.

"Don't jinx us, Rivaini," warns Varric, looking just as uneasily vigilant as she is.

Anders scans the room, empty except for them and a round warped wood table, large and lopsided. "We've been here for a while..."

"That's actually a little comforting. If they were truly trying to capture us, they would have sprung the trap by now-" Sebastian starts, but Fenris raises his hand sharply, motioning them to be quiet.

"Someone is coming."

Al they fall silent, not moving a muscle, footsteps on wooden planks echo down an unseen corridor, opposite of the door they'd entered through. A panel swings open, and Primus appears, one other with him, a woman it appears, dressed in dark, billowing clothes with a mysterious air, shrouded in shadows. All that is visible of her face under her low hood and mask is a pair of lips, dark red, and turned down at the edges.

"You came," Primus observes, looking at each of them in turn. "I'm pleased. I had hoped I would have your help."

"What is your plan, Magister?" Fenris asks, removing his hood and standing tall. The unknown woman's jaw drops, and she gasps audibly. "Deus mea!" She stares at Fenris, who barely spares her a glance. "Lyrium bellator." Primus does not look as shocked as his companion, but a little confused. He had obviously not expected the man under the cloak to be an elf.

"And why do you bring this praesumptor with you?" Fenris questions, gesturing to her.

Primus frowns. "This is my associate. She will be aiding us, an expert in her field. Before you fortuitously arrived, I had intended to confront Danarius by myself. She called you the lyrium warrior...?"

"A priorbus captivum-" the woman answers, "de Magister Danarius. Fugitivus." She looks-angry? If possible, she frowns even more severely.

"Fenris?" Carver looks to Fenris with brows knit in confusion.. "What is she saying?"

"She knows who I am."

His confusion is replaced quickly with decisiveness, immediately stepping forward, hilt of his sword flashing in the lamplight. "In a good way or bad way?" He is obviously prepared to act should the answer be 'bad'. Everyone else tenses, readying in the same way.

"You have nothing to fear from her, as I said, she is an associate. She will help us ascertain the best way to go about our plan. And," he turns to the woman, "Let us speak in Common, so as to understand each other."

"Of course," she speaks in heavily accented words, nodding her slightly. Her eyes are not visible, but Sebastian swears he can feel her visually picking apart each and every one of them.

"I was under the impression the Praesumptor are thieves," Varric states. "Why help us crash someone's party? What's in it for you?"

"I go where there is work. Where there are things to be taken. I do not care what you do to this magister, but my employer has promised my pick of any and all property om the premises," answers the praesumptor curtly. Her air of superiority reminds Sebastian of the Starkhaven nobles, haughty and irritated to be bothered with anything they did not deem of being of the utmost importance.

"I say we take what help we can get," Isabela says. Carver relaxes a little, but does not leave Fenris' side.

"I have more invitations, but only a few. It is best we enter with a small compliment of people, so as to be discreet as possible." the praesumptor informs them, drawing several identical pages out of her billowing sleeves, bound together with twine.

"You stole these?" Aveline asks with an obvious twinge of disapproval as she takes the roll.

"I prefer 'borrowed'," is the quick reply, with a sly smile. "I think these guests will be happy to have you attend in their stead."

"She may have done these people a favor," Merrill says, taking an invitation from Aveline and investigating, dainty fingers turning the paper over in her hands. Anders looks over her shoulder, nodding. "We should try not to harm any innocents, though."

"There are no innocents to be found here, I assure you," Fenris scowls, scanning an invitation of his own.

"You, you and you," the praesumptor points to Varric, Anders, and Sebastian, "You will be the easiest to bring into the party, undetected. "A dwarven nobleman, a magister, and a prince."

"How did she know that?" Sebastian whispers, mildly uncomfortable.

"She can tell," answers Primus with a satisfied half smile.

The praesumptor nods in agreement. "I will make sure to find the fastest way to him with minimal injuries."

"I will send you the proper attire," Primus interjects. "We have only a few more days until the event. Sollemnia will bring the clothes to your ship. You will come with your invitations and meet us here on the night of the event. Then, we will separate, and go it different groups to his masquerade. It is the best way to avoid detection. From there, we will use the information she has gathered to find your Hawke." He stops there, though for a moment his mouth stays open as if there was more to be said.

"A costume ball? Of course," Carver sneers under his breath. "Bunch of flowery shit in this country. What are the rest of us supposed to do, sit on our thumbs?"

"It would be unwise to attempt to sneak you all in," Sollemnia explains, seemingly with a shortening temper. "However, should you chose to, you may stay somewhere close by in the event that assistance in required."

"Then the rest of us will pick a place to wait," Aveline assents. "We'll meet up once you get Hawke clear of the danger and head to the ship."

"Then it is settled. Now, it is better that we do not spend much time together, so as to avoid suspicion." He bows, preparing to leave.

"Wait. When you last saw her, Hawke," Fenris asks, pausing before forcing out the rest of the question. "How was she? Had she been harmed? Is she..." He doesn't finish the question, unable to form the words.

Primus looks looks to the woman at his side as if debating whether or nor he should answer. She simply watches Fenris with intent, frowning. "When I first encountered her, she was wearing a collar. A magic dampening collar. He led her away on a chain after she begged for my life. She did not seem to harmed, physically, anyway."

Fenris stares at the floor, eyes flashing with anger.

"Sollemnia snuck into the estate later, after I had hired her, and told me she had seen Hawke again." He gestures to her. "Tell them what you told me."

"She..." Hesitation. Sebastian's gut clenches. Is it so bad that she fears to tell them? "She is in a dire place. If we are not successful, it is my understanding that the magister intends to perform the same ceremony of lyrium bonding on her," Sollemnia risks a look at Fenris, "as she did to you."

All the color drains from his face. Varying expressions of horror cross their faces; Carver hisses "What?!" mingling with Aveline's huff of disbelief and Bela's "Oh, balls."

"We will be successful," Primus assures. "I will not see another killed in his monstrous experiments." That vengeful fire, flashing, burning... "We should part now. Safe travels." He again makes for the exit, his companion with him, and then they leave the way they came. The praesumptor gives Fenris several last admiring glance before disappearing behind the panel with her employer.

Before they can speak, the door across the room opens, and the surly looking bartender waves them back out.

When they return to the ship, everyone sorts of drifts away to their own corners, struggling under the weight of realization. If they did not understand before, it has suddenly become stark, the danger that Hawke is in. Fenris did not speak much of the ritual that fused him to his lyrium burden, but they all knew what it had done to him memory, what it had done to him.

Sebastian finds a quiet nook of the ship to be alone. Above decks, not even the usual sound of raucous card games can be heard, just dreading silence, anxious anticipation. He bows his head, large hands wrapped around his dog-eared copy of the Chant.

"Maker," he entreaties, "please protect her. She is a good woman. I know not your will, but surely this is not what you intend for one of your most devoted servants. Please-" He stops mid-sentence as something scrapes on the wall behind him. He turns and there Fenris stands, face stony and unreadable. Without speaking, he comes over and drops to his knees next to Sebastian, clasping his hands and bowing his head.

They pray together.

* * *

Author's note: I apologize again to you guys for being late! I made some important plot tweaks, and I didn't want to post again until I was sure of the direction I was taking with this! And wow! You guys really responded to chapter 30, and Hawke's letter! Guess I better keep heaping on the angst:)

Lyndoita: Wow! I'm totally blushing right now I'm really happy you've enjoyed it. I'm still working on clarity, with no beta it's difficult to tell what you guys will infer and what I need to make more explicit, but I'm doing my best! Welcome to the party!

Fireyrose00: And welcome to you too! If you know what her motivations are, then no, she wasn't too submissive, given she really couldn't do much outside of play her part.

Avatarfan444: AH! I love seeing your reviews! :D I'm glad you were moved by the last chapter. I was hoping to get sorrowful down without being contrived. And yeah, Danarius is scum. I seriously hate him more and more every time I write him. There will definitely be sneaking around. If only glasses and laser beams existed in Thedas.

MC: I totally did not make that connection, but now that I think about it, it does seem like that. Both women are in a situation where they are sure they won't ever be escaping. Also I am totally flattered that you linked the two:3

Scarliatta: More you shall have! I'm not done just yet!

I totally love you guys btw. Soon to come: Alba can't catch a break with a butterfly net! If you don't absolutely despise Danarius by now, you might _be_ him! I will personally come to the house of every person that gave Fenris back and fight them physically! Stay tuned!


	32. Chapter 32

.xxxii.

It's a difficult decision, but Alba decides that she will tell the Master what Ava knows. It had been a few days since she'd said anything, but her words have had an affect, she can tell. The dark haired woman doesn't smile as much anymore, does not sing jaunty songs to herself as she works, doesn't laugh breathlessly at anything anymore. Though she is not weakening. Everyday, she grows a bit stronger, walking with purpose, allowed more time out of her collar by the Master in preparation for the masquerade. He wants her looking as intimidating as possible. And it's working. Even the other slaves, who have come to like her very much have been avoiding her more and more, frightened by the change in her demeanor.

She does not want to see her friend punished, but she knows the penalty for any sort of rebellion against the Master is death. And if the truth is to be told, Ava has protected her so many times since they've met, she does not want to know what it is to be alone again, on her own. It seems the lesser of two evils to simply tell him; maybe she'll get off with only a few days without food, or a whipping even.

The Master doesn't even seem surprised when she comes to his study several nights later, head bowed, speaking softly. She shares her concerns, and he listens, watching her with the detached interest of someone watching a slug slithering across the ground.

"I think she is under the impression that you have not upheld your word, Master, and I would not like to see any harm come to her because of this," she speaks, not meeting his eyes. Too late, she realizes that she should have kept her mouth shut. Perhaps death would be preferable to the woman who has walked around looking almost like a corpse over the last few days. She's not sure what compelled her to tell the Master what she knows, but she suspects it was not entirely her will.

"Is that so?" Danarius drawls, reclined in his chair, book in hands, running his finger around the rim of a wineglass. "I can't imagine what gave her that thought." She can feel his eyes cut to her. "What might have made her think she had to worry about me not keeping my end of the deal?"

"I-I do not know Master," she lies, hesitance giving her away. He laughs faintly. Within seconds, he has enthralled her, and she tells everything: the conversation she had over heard, which she had then told Ava, and what she feared the woman might do as a result. His blood magic leaves no secrets to be uncovered, no lies uncorrected by the truth. It is terrible, the ease with which she speaks, and when she's done, he releases the spell on her. She wonders what terrible torture the Master is planning for her betrayal.

"Fantastic. You performed well, Alba."

She stares at him uncomprehendingly. "Master?"

"I had concerns that you were not smart enough to do as I hoped, and allow what you overheard to let slip to my little Ava, but you did. Better than I had expected, really. It will be very entertaining to see her try to kill me."

Alba cannot speak through her shock. How is it possible that he had known she would tell Ava? She had shocked herself by doing so.

"I'm sure you remember, but when I acquired my Fenris, I had held a tournament to pick the strongest victor, and make them my new body guard. What I did not expect was such an interesting creature as he to win. Strong, and so very willful. But after I saw him I knew he would be the one, I knew he would win. When he did, I was very pleased. That is a key element in choosing a lyrium warrior." He pauses to take a drink, enjoying her confusion. "The weak do not survive.

"The ritual by which I made him even more and beautiful required that he was in a... certain mindset, at the time it was performed. It is necessary that subject be ready to fight to death. Angry, raging, even. Operating purely on instinct. That is when they are most responsive to the fusing of their spirit and the lyrium."

"You... wanted me to tell her what I heard, so that she would be angered? So you can make her a lyrium warrior?" Alba parrots, not believing what she's hearing. How has she become complicit in this, without even knowing? "Is this why you have had so many blood rituals..." she trails off, the pieces clicking into place.

"Again I am astounded by your powers of observation. Yes. And if all goes as planned, I will have two at my disposal. A lovely little pair, in fact. I am quite excited about that, I can hardly keep still. It will be so nice to see my little wolf again, next to my little bird." He grins. "I'm starting quite the collection, aren't I? If I wasn't already, I would be the envy of every magister in the Imperium."

She blinks, as if the action can somehow dispel her confusion, and dawning horror. "I don't understand-"

"You don't need to. What you will do is watch Ava carefully. Report her actions to me. You will tell me her thoughts, her plans, anything she says to you."

As she nods, accepting his orders, a rush of cold shame chills her heart. "As you say."

"Delightful," he grins, bright white teeth catching the light streaming through the windows. "I am much pleased with your service, Alba. You may go."

As she walks away, she cries for the first time in years. Somehow, this mission of espionage is the worst punishment possible.

When she encounters Balazs, he stops working, almost dropping buckets to rush to her side. "Sister? What's wrong? Are you crying?"

"It's nothing," she quickly assures him, scrubbing at eyes she did not know were streaming. "Don't worry about me."

"I could not say the same to you, could I?" he smiles, ducking his head to her level and handing her his handkerchief. She takes it, warmed by his concern. If she disobeys, he undoubtedly will suffer for it. She has to remind herself that he is her priority. The task ahead is unpleasant, but she must do it for his sake.

"Back to work!" the foreman yells, cruel voice giving warning.

Balazs gives her hand a squeeze. "Everything will be alright. Don't cry."

She smiles. "Thank you, little brother."

As she turns away from him to allow him his work, she catches sight of Ava, who watches with the first flicker of emotion Alba has seen on her face in days.

Longing.

* * *

Author's Note: I'm really glad you guys aren't giving me guff about being late with these updates. It's the last week before Spring Break, so everything's been kicked to 11 over here. But I haven't forgotten, I swear! I'm sticking with it!

IDRK-It'sme: Aww, you flatterer! Yep, Hawke's really stepped in it now, huh?

MC: Sebastian had so much potential and promise, and I think the writers sort of just gave up on that. I'm with you, I will forever stand by him. And as for the praying, I was inspired by a bit of banter that Fenris and Sebastian have about going to the Chantry. Now seems like a good time to test that faith!

Nezumi: You're back! Would any of those video games happen to be Inquisition?;) If so, I totally understand. Fenris is ready to tear the entire city apart. Poor guy, I feel bad for torturing him like this.

Avatarfan444: AHH! Thank you! You make me blush:D Like I said, the only point of reference I have for Fenris' faith, or lack thereof, is some of the banter that he has with Sebastian. It's also my belief that some of Hawke's faith may have rubbed off on him as well. Whatever the cause. he's desperate enough to try anything. They all are. Oh, Hawke, always causing more trouble than she's actually fixing.

I seriously love you guys. Confession time: sometimes while I'm out doing whatever I'll sneak a peek at my phone to read your reviews because they make me smile so much! Honestly, thanks so much, each and every one of you!:D

Next up: Merrill and Anders discuss Tevinter! Because it sucks! Thedas is seriously screwy guys I'm telling ya. Oh also Carver is adorable. Stay tuned!


	33. Chapter 33

.xxxiii.

"It's not what you thought it would be, is it?" Anders asks, interrupting Merrill's reflection, taking a seat beside her on the deck. The view looking out over Minrathous' docks is a spectacular one. The activity wanes a little as the sun goes down, but not much. Lights are lit, and sparkle on the water, preparing for night. The sun hovers out in the distance, red and brilliant on the glistening water. It looks beautiful. Looks are deceptive.

"It isn't," she sighs, chin in her hands, looking tired. "My people... do not speak kindly of Tevinter, which makes sense, I suppose, given they're history."

"But you hold no grudge?" he asks, cocking a brow.

"Not personally, no. I don't think we should hold people responsible for what their predecessors did."

"Well, no, not unless they're guilty of the same crime."

"Not all in the Imperium agree with what they did, all those years ago." Merrill turns to him, sympathy on her face. "I know you must be very disappointed. And Justice as well? I heard that he-that you and he-" she doesn't seem to quite no how to refer to him.

"Yes, he did almost make an appearance. I didn't expect the supply run to get so exciting."

"Isabela told me," nods Merrill gravely. "She said she was surprised why you almost lost control, but she wouldn't say why...?" She doesn't really ask, but the question is in her voice. He sighs deeply.

"Mages suffer many injustices, more than most, but that doesn't mean that Justice only defends them. If he sees something wrong, he, and by extent I; we are compelled to act." She blinks, her question obviously still unanswered.

"I saw slaves being mistreated, horribly. I-I couldn't stand by. Justice couldn't stand by. I almost gave us away. Aveline had to drag me from the scene."

"So you... didn't help them?" She looks disappointed.

"I didn't say that," he smirks, turning into a full fledged grin when he sees her pleased reaction.

"I used to think Fenris was exaggerating," he admits, "about this place. I thought a country where mages ruled would be different. Better. That people who understand what it is to be ostracized and mistreated wouldn't visit the same on any others. I was wrong."

"I'm sorry," Merrill apologizes morosely.

"Don't be. It's not your fault. I had hoped-" he looks dejectedly out over the water. "I had hoped that it might be different somewhere else. That there might be an example to follow, or a haven to run to. It's better for mages here, but at what cost? They're elevated, on the backs of those without magic. Part of me is a little vindicated by that, if we're being honest here, it's nice to finally see our people on top, for once. But it's not right. And the world bases their view of mages on this one country, on their injustices, but they are not us!"

"It's not very fair, is it?" she muses quietly. "I wish it was. More fair, I mean."

"Me too."

She looks at him so long that he eventually turns to see what she's staring at. "Is there something on my face?"

"Don't lose hope," she all but commands him, wagging a thin finger in his face, a gesture undoubtedly picked up from Aveline. "I know it makes everything seem much harder, but if there are mages like you out there proving to the world that we're not all monsters, things will change, eventually."

"I'm surprised by your optimism," he murmurs.

"You and Hawke showed me that we as mages can be a force for the better. Not monsters." She smiles, placing a hand on his forearm. "We make mistakes, we stumble, as all do, but we can be good, too. Many are, I think, we just have the misfortune of only seeing the bad ones. This was a disappointment, I know. But don't give up."

'You already have,' an accusing voice whispers to him, 'You have given it all up.' Not Justice, but his own conscious, reminding him of his fate.

"I won't," he lies, ignoring the accusing voice.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it." She settles back, contentment on her face. "I never thought I'd miss Kirkwall. It's strange, really."

"Can't say I agree. I like getting away. Far away."

"You should come back to the Wardens, then," Carver interjects, coming to sit squarely in between the two of them, though there is hardly any room for him and his broad shoulders. "You'll get to travel all over."

Anders scowls at him.

"Carver!" Merrill chirps. Her makeup hides the blush on her cheeks, but not the pink tinge that spreads to the tips of her ears and down her neck, from his proximity undoubtedly. The two have been revolving around each other for a while now, sneaking glances and offering love struck smiles. He tries to ignore the jealousy he feels for the two of them.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," Carver says, staring at Anders, his intent having obviously been to interrupt.

"Not at all," the blonde quickly answers, collecting himself, and standing. "I was just about to go... write... something." His excuse is ill-contrived, but neither seem to notice. Without further conversation, he turns to make himself scarce.

Thinking better of it, he stops, mid-stride, and calls out, "Merrill!"

"Yes?"

"Thank you, for what you said."

She grins brightly, nodding. Carver frowns. He doesn't miss how the nosy boy asks her what the conversation had been about when he turns again to leave.

Her faith is comforting, but misplaced. She goes back to smiling at the younger Hawke, who just looks relieved to have her attention.

Seeing them together makes him think of Hawke, as if he needed any help doing that, as if she wasn't the most common thought in his head, beside his cause. Regret assails him, as it always does. He had shot down Hawke's initial joking flirtation, and then regretted it when he drove her into the arms of another while playing hard to get. Now he watches her tender smiles and shared laughter with the elf. They will always be friends, she will always be there, a constant ally, she has proven that, but still he cannot help but long for more. What he foolishly turned away. All because of his fight for freedom.

_'Justice is a heavy burden to bear,'_ his constant companion reminds him.

"I know," he sighs under his breath, watching the sun dip beneath the rolling waves. "I will carry it. Until the end."

* * *

Author's Note: Ahahahha Anders :'( I love you so much why did it have to be this way?!

Grand Admiral Pallaeon: Ah! Welcome to the party! Well, not so much a party as a funeral march... The reason why Danarius is so loathsome (at least, to me) is because he's a scheming prick. It's great that you like him, or at least, like to hate him. I do to. I boil with rage every single time I have to write dialogue for him. If I don't, I know that I'm not writing him correctly.

IDRK-Itsme- Oh, I know, I was just teasing you! :3 I'm churning them out as fast as I can for you guys, I love to see your reactions. And Carver gets a lot of flack, but I really do love him. He's a good kid.

Nezumi: I've heard a bit about Dying Light, like it was banned in Germany because it's so brutal? I hope you enjoyed it! I'm American too, and I cannot tell you how torturous it's been not to throw him off a roof. But it will happen! It is my intent not to finish this story without giving Danarius the demise he deserves. And thank you for sticking around! Your reviews have been so helpful!

Tanith'scrazytwin: Aww! Thank you so much! I had a lot of fun writing it. And reviews are worth their weight in gold. I started reviewing a whole lot more when I realized how much they matter to the author. I hadn't planned on Danarius using the Fade to torment her again (as I assumed it would require a good amount of effort to construct the fake setting and trick her into thinking it was all real and what have you), but at your request I might try to shoehorn some more in! It was one of my favorite concepts for the whole story.

I love hearing what you guys think. Drop a line if you have any suggestions!

Next chapter: I made myself really uncomfortable writing it! Like seriously I had to step away from the computer a few times because ew. Fair warning for you guys. Stay tuned!


	34. Chapter 34

[Warning!]

Hi guys! I just wanted to give you a little heads-up here. It was suggested that I leave a warning on any chapters that have content that might trigger my readers. This chapter has no explicit content, but the situation may make a few people uncomfortable. Please bare this in mind! Thank you very much!

.xxxiv.

Hawke counts down the days until the masquerade.

All the preparations have been made. A good deal of the guests have already arrived, filling the estate with noise and chaos. The slave quarters are even more cramped than before, and some sleep sitting up. With the time she has left, she watches every sunrise, listens to every birdsong, takes every breath of air, knowing they are among her last. If anyone has noticed the change in her, they do not comment, busy with the oncoming occasion.

She has already been fitted for her armor. When she had first laid eyes on it, her breath hitched. It looked so much like Fenris', for a moment she had thought the armor rack was him, a flash of white hair and vivid olive eyes just a trick of the light, a trick of her heart. She wades through everything with insulation, readying for the end.

Worse yet, she is given no work for the days leading up to the event, spending nearly every waking hour in Danarius' presence, 'resting', as per his order, though in truth she has just been elevated to the enviable status of his hand maiden, or something of the like. Even now she stands in his bedroom as he prepares for bed, focusing more on her thoughts that her surroundings. Apparently sensing this, Danarius speaks.

"You would make a terrible body guard. To not be aware of your environment means death for your master," he chides, relaxing into bed, drawing the light, ornamented blankets up to his waist, leaving just his bare chest visible. She pointedly ignores him, staying silent, also keeping in mind not to look at him.

A vase comes hurtling off some shelf at her, and instinctively, she jerks her forearms up, swinging out of the way just in time. It hits the wall behind her so hard the porcelain shatters, spraying her with ricocheting shards and dust. She keeps her arms up, on the offensive.

"Ah, so it seems you are more present than you seem. Wonderful. I do like lulling enemies into a false sense of security."

A trick. It takes a good deal of control not to pick up a vase of her own and hurl at him in return. She lets her arms down, resuming her statuesque stance at the foot of his bed, staring out a window at the star speckled night, aware of his every movement in her peripheral vision. He watches her intently. Just the sound of his breathing makes her want to grind her teeth so she prays silently.

'Maker give me peace and patience; Andraste guide my hand.' Perhaps her thirst for vengeance on this man is not as virtuous as she'd like, but the promise of his impending death is pleasing. It's keeping her going, anyway. 'Maker-' Why won't He answer her?

"My little bird," Danarius coos, and she presses her fingernails into her palms. "Come here and adjust my pillows."

It takes a beat, a second for her to swallow her repugnance, but does as she is told, coming around to his bedside and fluffing the cushions. Avoiding eye contact, focusing on the task and not how close she is to him, how far away she wishes she were.

'My Maker, know my heart; O Maker hear my cry,' she recites soundlessly. He reaches out and clamps his hand around her arm. She tries to yank back, but his grip is iron.

"I'm cold, little bird. Come warm me."

Her heart launches into her throat.

"Cold?" she repeats. "Well, I've certainly heard less believable lies from those hoping to get me into their beds." The wry jokes bursts forward from her lips, a force of habit in the face of what she fears.

He laughs, and yanks her down beside him onto the bed, smothering her in his arms. "Mm. You smell so nice," he presses his nose into her hair, loosing it from it's knot, pulling at the fallen locks roughly. She tries to sit up, to get away, but he holds her back, his copious rings clinking against the metal collar. His wandering attention turns to the small portion of her uncovered neck. "You're almost like him," he muses, holding her tighter as she struggles to get away. His hands move beneath the hem of her tunic with purpose, his eyes flashing with his intent. "Almost like him. So full of life, and fight." Why isn't her body responding to her commands? Why can't she fight him?

His fingers creep up over her raised ribs, tracing them to the spine, and the feeling of being touched after so long sends electricity through her very sinew. She hates how she reacts to the contact. But against her will, she gasps at contact. Her body responds, arching beneath him.

"Don't fight me," he croons, sliding his hands across the smooth skin of her back, "...too hard."

"Stop," she chokes out, the word barely a whisper. She is warring against him, trying to flee, to take his hands off of her, but she's trapped. A spell, she realizes, more blood magic.

"Smooth," he breathes, hot air heavy against her chest, "your skin is perfect for bruises." She has no idea what he's talking about but she wishes he'd shut up.

"And what are we hiding under here..." he questions, grinning up at her, sliding her clothes off-

"NO!" she screams, jerking away. She's not in the bed, not near him, she's where's she's been standing nearly all evening, still facing the twinkling stars. It's apparent she never moved. Danarius smiles as she turns, disoriented. "Lost in day dreams, little bird?"

She faces the window and bites down the angry words, trying not to shudder.

'The deep dark before dawn's first light seems eternal, but know that the sun always rises.' Encouragement, desperately needed, and she clings to the words.

It's not much longer now.

* * *

Author's Note: I can't even tell you guys how many times I jumped away from the computer while writing this. Yech! Danarius pls go away. But if I'm completely creeped out by it, then I'm doing my job right. I think.

AmberJF: That one chest at the beginning of the game always makes me wish I had chosen rogue, but story wise mage!Hawke is just much more fun. Yes! I'm pleased that you're enjoying it! And I apologize in advance for what's coming.

Avatarfann444: I love Fenris. He's my favorite. I always feel terrible for Anders because I know how much Hawke means to him, but I really can't resist that brooding elf. Ah yes! I surprised you! I surprised myself with that one, actually. This story has made a lot of changes and twists that I did not originally plan on. Thanks to you guys, in part!

Next up: Less creepy, I promise. The merry band begins their infiltration plan. Will they be able to rescue Hawke and get out unscathed? Stay tuned!


	35. Chapter 35

.xxxv.

"This is it," Varric breathes, his voice stark against the levity of the party inside. He and his companions, or rather, fellow party goers have congregated just outside the entrance, preparing to enter the party proper. He sees a muscle in Sebastian's jaw twitches while smooths his embroidered shirt, looking very noble, and very stern. Anders reaches to run a hand through his hair only to stop short so as not to mess it up, and makes do with shoving his hands into the pockets of his robes, thankfully not the one with the chest window from before. Primus watches the entrance, steely eyed, while the praesumptor fades in and out of the shadows of the courtyard.

"Last chance," Anders mumbles.

Sebastian shoots him a look. "There's no need to be so dire. This is a rescue mission, not an execution."

"If you are careful," the praesumptor warns, disappearing from view for a few seconds, and then reappearing just a couple paces away.

"We will be," assures Varric, hoping his confidence will rub off on them all.

"Hawke's life depends on it," Sebastian sees fit to remind them even though they are all undoubtedly very aware of the fact.

Anders huffs, sliding his feathered costume mask down over his face. "No pressure, though."

"Now," Primus indicates, spotting spotting a break queue, launching for the entrance. The two humans guards wave in the guests in front of them, and the approaching party forward.

"Invitations?" one guard asks, holding his hand out. One by one they hand in their invitations, and wait his scrutiny. And Maker be praised, he waves them through with obvious disinterest and a half hearted "Enjoy your evening."

Once inside they breathe a collective sigh of relief. Varric works his face into some semblance of an inviting smile. "See? Nothing to worry about. Now all we need to do is find Hawke and we'll sneak her out of here before anyone has noticed."

The party is bright, practically blinding. Men and women mingle in well dressed clumps, laughing and sipping tall glasses of wine. Lights float above them, propelled by magic no doubt. Ivy wrapped pillars support the deep blue tapestry roof, with flecks of silver to give the appearance of the night sky. Elven slaves dressed in matching uniforms flit back and forth through the crowd, heads down. It's hard to imagine Fenris, proud, strong warrior that he is as one of these elves, bending neck and knee to a master.

"I will go locate her," their hidden friend tells them, whisper barely heard over the chatter.

Primus gestures off to the long corridors of the estate. "Hurry, Sollemnia. Once you find her, we'll create some sort of distraction, and then we'll we retrieve her."

"As you say," she responds, and then flickers, disappearing again.

"What now?" Sebastian asks out of the side of his mouth, offering a bright, albeit a forced smile at a passing group of young ladies, who bat their eyelashes under their gemstone encrusted masks.

"We mingle," Primus sighs, waving them out onto the floor. Anders grabs a flute of champagne off a passing server's tray and downs the thing in a single breath. "Let's do this."

They have no trouble attracting attention. The group of women from before are quick to flock around them, all heaving bosoms and coquettish grins.

"Usually Magister Danarius holds such lavish parties, but I didn't expect such handsome men to be in attendance," the tallest one flirts, twining her arm with Anders, who's sweating harder than a maleficar in a chantry. "I can't recall ever having seen any of you before, except you, Primus," she smirks at him momentarily, and Varric senses a story lingering, some old embarrassment. "Who are your comely friends?"

"Investors... in my up and coming business," Primus answers, a surprisingly good liar.

"How interesting," a pale blonde answers, obviously more interested in Sebastian, hanging on his arm, playing with the strap of his mask. "And how fortunate for us. Not only are we treated to such good company, but the evening promises to be interesting indeed."

"How so?" Anders asks, as he tries his hardest not to flinch away from the lady magister eyeing him.

"Danarius is showing off his latest conquest tonight. He claims he enslaved the Champion of Kirkwall."

The men share a collective grim glance, unnoticed by the women.

"And he's going to reveal her tonight?" Varric ventures, hoping he sounds convincingly cool.

"Oh, yes," the tall one answers, "He always entertains with his new conquests. Remember the one he had, the one with the white hair? Mm, he was so beautiful..." The men's masks can't hide their sneers. It looks like both Sebastian and Anders are fighting to not throw off their admirers.

Primus' attention turns to a corner, a table laden with delicacies. For a moment he watches, and then nods almost imperceptibly. "If you will excuse me for a moment," he says, bowing curtly and turning to leave. None of the women seem to notice. Varric moves to follow, throwing an excuse, and a sympathetic glance over his shoulder at his friends.

"You found her?" Primus whispers, turning his head to Varric as if they are engaging in conversation. Sollemnia answers, sounding breathless. "She was not where she was supposed to be."

"Where is Danarius?" Primus asks.

"I do not know. I could find neither."

"That is the polar opposite of 'good'," interjects Varric. "Where would they be-"

"My guests, friends, may I have your attention please?" A resounding voice calls out over the large room, reverberating. All heads turn to the source.

"Danarius," Primus hisses.

"I am pleased to see you all here tonight." The crowd claps politely, smiles ravenous. Sebastian and Anders take advantage to slip away from their admirers, joining Varric, Primus, and Sollemnia by the refreshment table. "What's going on?" Anders asks sotto voce, gesturing to the magister.

"The main attraction," Sollemnia answers gravely. "Look."

Varric can't believe what he's seeing for a second. A moment where he doubts his own perception, because surely that can't be Hawke up their on that stage.

"No!" Anders gasps.

"By the Maker," Sebastian utters, "This..." He can't even finish his sentence.

Hawke walks a few paces behind magister Danarius, head high, stare intense and unblinking as she assesses the crowd. The usual quirk of her lips is gone, and her eyes are dark and sunken. Aside from that, she looks mostly unharmed, no visible bruises or scars, at least not beneath the wave of shining black hair that surrounds her face. She wears armor much like Fenris', but modified for a mage, imposing and fearful looking. And around her neck is a large, shining collar with runes around the circumference and attached to a chain, which she is dragged along by.

"I present, Aleka Hawke; Champion of Kirkwall."

The crowd goes wild, tittering shock and loud applause, unabashed catcalling even. Danarius grins; Hawke remains stony and cold. It's so unlike her. There's no doubt that it's Hawke standing up on the stage, but she's completely different than the cheerful, snickering woman he knows.

"She was difficult to subdue, very willful, but ultimately very much worth it. As you all know, she is responsible for the death of the Arishok. To have her in my possession is a massive blow to Qunari morale."

"You think of everything, Danarius!" one spectator calls out.

"Not everything," Primus mumbles through gritted teeth.

"But I did not bring her out simply for you to ogle her." Scattered laughter. "As I said, I have an important announcement to make."

"Will you be loaning her out for the night?" A woman calls, earning more laughter and some hoots.

"I'll pay!" Another guest calls, waving his hand.

"I cannot allow this," Anders grits out, sparks of Fade alighting on his skin.

Varric panics a little. Really not the best time for a light show."Blondie, you've got to keep it together. If you go nuts right now we might not get out of here alive. Hawke might not get out of here alive. _She_ needs you to stay in control."

Anders crushes his hands into white-knuckled fists, taking deep breaths. "I am in control," he tells himself.

Danarius continues, "As you all know, I have been perfecting the process of creating lyrium warriors..."

Primus shoots Sollemnia a look. "Lyrium warrior? He can't mean-"

"I invite you all to view my success tomorrow evening. I will make the once proud protector of Kirkwall my own, personal lyrium warrior."

The applause rings hollow as Varric watches Hawke react, showing the first true emotion of the evening on her face. Surprise. Horror. Rage. She bares her teeth, and spins around, as if looking for an escape.

"What is she-" Sebastian starts, stepping forward, but Primus grasps his arm, holding him back, as Hawke lunges for a knife, a piece of silverware on a nearby table. Quick as a flash she's upon Danarius, aiming for his throat.

With a flick of the wrist, he freezes her in place, arm still poised for attack, face still contorted with fury, which morphs into sickened shock as she finds she cannot move.

Sebastian tries to break away again. "He's going to kill her! We have to-"

"No, he's not, just wait," Primus tells him. Anders is still tenuously holding onto control, standing ramrod straight.

"As you can see, she gets a little fussy when I keep her up past her bed time." More laughter, though a little more uncomfortable sounding.

"If you will excuse us, please enjoy the rest of your night. I hope to see you all next evening." Another flick of the wrist and she drops the knife, leaving it to clatter across the floor as she stiffly follows him out of sight.

"Our time table has just been moved up," Sollemnia tells them, shrinking away from the light as the crowd begins to disperse, discussing animatedly. "A change of plan is in order."

"We have to get her out, now!" emphasizes Anders, having calmed some.

"We can't do it by ourselves," Primus shakes his head. "The guests will leave, to other parts of the estate for the night. Once they're out of the way, we can go after Hawke, but we will still have to face Danarius and his forces."

"I am the fastest. I can go retrieve your friends," Sollemnia addresses Varric.

"Then go, quickly. Make sure they bring our weapons."

She leaves promptly, melting into the darkness.

Anders speaks with obvious agitation. "If Danarius goes through with this-"

"I know, Blondie. She gets scrambled. Like Fenris was."

"That's not happening," Sebastian tells them, determination intermingled with trepidation. "It's... it's not."

* * *

Author's Note: Uh oh, Hawke's in trouble now. Question time: On a scale of one to ten, just how much do you hate Danarius?

AmberJF: Oh my goodness your reviews killed me I'm dead your compliments were too much for my poor heart to take. "BLASTS DANARIUS' EYEBALLS OUT THE BACK OF HIS BRAIN WITH BLAZING FIREBALLS" has to be he best method of death I have ever heard. I love it. Definitely going to have to try to work that in somehow.

Knifeinthedarkness: Stab him a few hundred times? That's excellent! I think they'll turn him into Swiss cheese once given the chance. Anders breaks my heart too, but I'll never stop loving him, even in spite of his penchant for iconoclasm.

IDRKIt'sme: Yeah, Danarius is the whole package, huh? The only way I could make him worse is if I made him wear socks and sandals or something. And I really like the concept of the separate endings! I don't want to give you any spoilers, but the ending I had in plan is mildly bittersweet, but I'm considering writing one in which everything that could go wrong, does. Thank you!

colecompassion: Ah! An account just to follow this story? I'm not worthy! I'm blushing so hard right now.

MC: Awesome! As is the case with a lot of characters, he just sort of grew from the few glimpses I got of him. I didn't even plan for him to be this terrible! He was really much more benign, even a little misunderstood (as I imagine growing up in a place like Tevinter might unhinge some people), but he just went full creepwad once I let him loose. I hope that doesn't say anything about me! *sweating*

This chapter is for you guys desperate for an update!

Next Chapter: It's just gonna get worse that's really all I have to say.


	36. Chapter 36

.xxxvi.

"That was very foolish, my little bird," Danarius reproves as he leads her through a part of his estate she's never seen before. It's dark, sparsely lit, and unfinished. It reminds her of the Deep Roads, red light barely piercing the darkness.

"You called me by my real name. Hawke. Why?"

"Because it is the last time you will ever be referred to by that name. When I am done, you will truly be my little bird. My Ava."

"You can't do this," she guarantees him, working in vain against his spell as they move down the constricting corridor. "You broke the agreement. I know that you're trying to find Fenris again and I will kill you for it. You have no hold on me!"

He shoves her into the room at the farthest end of the hall. Danarius slams the door behind them, bolting it shut.

"You must forgive me, I didn't read the fine print on that."

She lunges for him again, no weapon but her intense hatred. He uses her chain to restrain her, smiling down as she struggles to keep upright. "You fight just like he did when I performed the ceremony on him, so desperate."

She jerks in his grasp, fingers going for his eyes. He tosses her across the room effortlessly.

"He didn't know what was coming. He said much the same thing, 'This wasn't part of the agreement!'" Danarius laughs, circling her as she lurches to her feet and attacks again. He easily avoids her, and throws her into the ground again, painfully. She's almost sure she heard a bone crunch under the weight of her fall, but it doesn't matter, if she can just...

"He fought so hard. For his life. He begged for freedom. Begged me not to do it. That made it so much better. I want you to beg, Ava. Beg me for your life."

Hawke pulls herself up, breathing heavily. "No."

"You will. They all do."

"All?" she repeats, "What do you mean 'all'?"

He smirks. "You can't think I've only performed this once. There were many test runs. Much trial and error. Fenris was the last. It was difficult to find subjects who could bear the burden of lyrium."

Enraged, she hurtles toward him again, only to be lifted clear into the air, legs swinging as he catches her up by the neck.

"Oh, but he could, and I was very pleased. He did everything that I asked, unquestioningly. Everything."

She digs her fingers into his face, drawing forth a roar, and gets tossed down yet again for her efforts. When she gets on her feet yet again, Danarius flings his arm at her, slamming her back into a levered table. Unseen hands buckle her to it, straps around her arms and legs while she is too dazed to respond.

"Everything," Danarius sneers, his face in hers. "He poured my wine and guarded my life and when I told him to he bent over an-"

She roars, so loud it startles Danarius mid-speech.

"You bastard! You filth, vile maleficar! I don't care if I live or die but I will see you pay for all you've made him suffer! I will see your death if it is the last thing I do! I will personally escort you to the Void and I will laugh as you suffer!" Hissing and writhing she tries to strike out at him but she is firmly bound.

He unlocks her collar, though when she tries to blast him with something- anything, her magic is still inaccessible.

"I will see you burn!"

"I think not, little bird; we have people to impress soon. I do love how riled you get in defense of the one you love."

Her heart is beating deafeningly in her ears as a tattooed man approaches the table, laying equipment on a small table nearby.

"I'm going to kill you," she swears, yanking against the restraints. "I'm going to kill you!"

"My dear, you won't remember making that promise when we're done here," she says, brushing her hair aside, and gagging her. "And when my little wolf comes to rescue you, I will make sure you are the one to subdue him. You will be the one to hold him down when I re-brand him." He laughs as she thrashes, screaming muffled curses through the material of the gag.

Hawke can't look away as the tattooed man lays out his instruments: needles, sharp, slim blades, and finally, several glimmering phials of lyrium.

"Maker!" she beseeches, managing the words around her gag. "Maker-"

"He's not here, little bird. Just me."

The tattooed man dips a needle in lyrium, and Danarius begins to recite some arcane spell she wouldn't be able to understand even if she could hear him over the rush of blood in her ears.

The needle descends.

The world flashes white for a moment. And then she hears screaming, faint and far away. Dimly, she wonders who it is until it begins to grow louder and louder and realizes it is her voice, she's screaming. Why-

Scorching fire roars through her left arm. It is pain unlike any other she has ever known before. Burning, blinding, white hot pain and it doesn't fade, doesn't stop, jest get hotter and hotter. She screams and thrashes; bites her own lip in the process and blood spills out of her the gag and runs down the sides of her neck. Nothing exists any more but her and the pain, radiating from her wrist, but equally intense all over.

She screams until her voice no longer works and keeps screaming she thrashes until she can't move anymore, forced to stare at the needle as it descends again and again pressing the luminous lyrium into her inflamed skin, replacing her blood with torturous fire.

In the light she sees something move. Easy to miss in the bright white light, but it comes into focus. A form. A person. They reach out to her, a hand she struggles to grip.

"Maker," she moans hoarsely, until the fire is too much to bare and she slips into unconsciousness.

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry I've been a little slow with the updates guys! I've been working hard (read: agonizing over how to not make the upcoming chapters suck) to make sure everything is as polished as possible before posting. I have no beta, so please excuse the errors. Feel free to point out any you see, I greatly appreciate it!

SecretCompanion: Your wish is my command;3

Knifeinthedarkness: I feel you, man. I want to strangle him to death, but at the same time, I wouldn't want to touch him with a ten foot pole.

Avatarfan444: So close, yet so far! It couldn't be Hawke to deliver the killing blow. I think we all know who gets that honor.

MC: Ah, I know, I kind of wanted to make him gloat a little more, maybe even recognize Hawke's companions, but I had already surpassed word threshold, and didn't want to slap too much into one chapter. Which I end up doing anyway so oh well. Ah yes, Tevinter nobility, with no concept of the rights outside of themselves, though, as Fenris said, there are sure to be some good ones. Of course we know Danarius wouldn't associate much with the good ones.

AmberJF: I'm actually recieving a surprising amount of people asking me to end it on a heart breaking note. It had been my intent to line up the ending with canon so that the events of the game continue once the story is over, but you guys really love pain, so I might have to divert from that!

IDRKIt'sme: I was twisting the ends of my handlebar mustache when I typed that. Like I said, I really did want to end this with everyone being more or less okay, but I might have to forgo that in order to bring on the pain!

Tanith'scrazytwin: I know exactly what you mean. With two separate endings, it will be so much more like the game, and everyone gets to choose which eventuality they'd rather see.

Soon to come: We're drawing to the conclusion of this story! What will happen to Hawke? And will Danarius pay for his evil? Is Anders still wearing that chest exposing robe? We just don't know! Stay tuned!


	37. Chapter 37

.xxxvii.

Fenris knows something is wrong, he can feel it. It's indescribable, just a sudden feeling of... dread. Wrongness. His brands tingle along his spine and arms. It hits him quickly as he watches from the window of the warehouse they are waiting in.

"You've got that look," Isabela observes, "That 'something is wrong-gut instinct look'."

"I... I don't know," he admits. "I suddenly-"

"Bellator! Lyrium bellator!" a shout rings out fro, the street.

"Is that-?" Carver asks, sticking his head out the window. "It's her, it's Primus' thief friend."

"Why is she here?" Merrill asks, brows knitted in concern. "If she's here and not the others-"

"Something's gone wrong," finishes Aveline, swinging the door open to receive the praesumptor.

"Branding!" the woman gasps, throwing herself through the door, loose black clothes billowing around her. "Danarius is planning to brand her. Now!"

"What!?" Carver blinks. "You can't be serious!"

"We have to go, quickly. We don't have much time. The guests should be clear by the time we get back, but we most move quickly or your friend may be lost to us forever."

Everyone scatters, going for their weapons. The praesumptor lingers in the door for half a second, moonlight spilling in over her shoulders.

"Bellator!" she calls again, crossing the room to speak to him as the others prepare, throwing off her hood. Bright red hair falls forward around her face, bright green eyes watching him intently.

Something in his chest pangs, a familiarity. Before he can ask, she speaks.

"The situation is more desperate than I had thought, so I must tell you this now."

"Tell me-?" Images are flickering in his minds eye, the feeling of familiarity growing. "You-" he blinks, suddenly seeing her differently. "You are... you can't be- but I remember... we used to play together. You called me-"

"Leto." One word brings down memories he had thought long gone. Flashes of a life from before, turning from black and white into color, childhood, family. He nearly staggers under the weight of it all. "That is your name, you're true name. I had hoped to discuss this with you later, in depth, but I do not believe we will have the time."

"Why- you didn't tell me you were a praesumptor? Why didn't you say something-"

"I had to be sure it was you. I have been working with the Praesumptor for a long time. We are known primarily as thieves, but that is not our only function. When I received word that people matching the descriptions of the friends you had mentioned in your letters, I alerted Primus, who has long been looking for aid against Danarius. And it was you, but I did not want to throw personal business into the mix until my mission was complete. As I said, I had hoped to reveal this to you after this business was sorted out, but we have no time.

"I had taken the position of apprentice under Danarius in order to operate undercover. I thought I knew what his plan was, but he must have changed it. Now we have to go or else-"

"Any day now," prompts Isabela, dashing by and spinning her daggers.

"I am sorry for the deception. I will answer any questions you want when we are finished, Leto."

"Fine," he agrees, unable to come up with any other coherent thought. Varania, here in front of him. The sister who had only existed in letters from across the sea standing in front of him. She'd been here the whole time. "Varania." She pauses in the middle of drawing her hood back up. "Thank you."

A small smile before she turns, beckoning the others to follow her.

As they streak through the streets of Minrathous, he tries not to think of Hawke tries not to think of her screaming, prays that they make it in time.

But something in his heart tells him to prepare for the worst.

It takes too long to make it to the estate, but old memories, not ones hidden by brands and magic but ones he would like to forget come bubbling to the surface. To think, all this time, and Danarius is still in the same place. The years have changed so much, but not this. It's difficult to think around the mounting, irrational horror that comes over him when he sees the familiar place.

Varania leads them in a secret entrance, hidden by thick vines of foliage and they creep into a dark, silent room. Varania lifts a hand, conjuring wisps of light into her hands.

"You're a mage?" he exclaims in a whisper.

She gives him a look. "Yes. How else could I have taken up the apprenticeship, as I told you?"

"Maybe now's not the time for the 'I hate all mages routine' Carver hisses, nudging him forward.

If they manage to live through this, there is going to be a lot to discuss afterward.

"Shh!" Aveline commands, holding up a hand. "Did you hear that?"

They all pause, listening closely. It's faint, barely perceptible, but it's there.

A scream.

"Creators, no, that can't be..." Merrill gasps, dismayed.

"Hawke," Fenris chokes. He knows that voice. He knows that scream.

"That's my sister!" Carver bites out, furious. "I'm going to break this bastard's neck!"

"Get in a line," a well-known whisper sounds from around the corner, and Varric appears with Sebastian, Anders, and Primus just behind him.

"How long has this been going on?" Aveline attempts to ascertain.

"Too long," hisses Anders, "We've been trying to follow the screams-"

"This place is difficult to navigate," explains Varania, ushering them all to follow her closely. "It was designed to keep prisoners from escaping."

"This is a jail?" Aveline asks, looking around carefully as they move forward.

Primus scoffs. "This is a dungeon."

Hawke's screams gradually get louder, and hoarser.

"Maker, what is he doing to her?" Sebastian breathes, but no one does him the disservice of answering. As they draw closer, they move faster, speeding ahead with purpose.

"We're coming Hawke," whispers Isabela, "hold on."

An arrow goes flying through the air and wedges itself in the wall.

"Fantastic," Aveline grits out, lifting her shield to block more arrows. "He knows we're coming."

"We don't have time for this!" Carver shouts, as slavers descend from their hiding places.

"Go ahead!" commands Varric, "We'll take care of this. Go get Hawke!" Aveline, Varric, Isabela and Sebastian stay behind to deal with the slavers while the others sprint ahead. Several more twists and turns, and they reach the door at the end of the spiraling hall.

"He will have magical defenses, and Maker knows what else," informs Varania producing a key to the door. "Prepare yourselves."

She opens the door.

Time slows.

In the center of the room is a table with a small figure strapped to it, throwing her head back and shrieks, voice broken and rasping twisting against the straps of the table she is bound to, underneath the iron grip of a tattoo covered man with a long, glistening needle. Fenris is assailed with horror: It's Hawke, bound and twitching, plaintive moans rising from her broken looking figure.

Hawke here, in this place, suffering as she is, and his own terror, fear he thought he had conquered long ago returning so quickly. He pushes it down, letting adrenaline take him forward, into the room, letting his anger quell the primal terror he feels being in this room.

"Sister!" Carver yells, shooting forward into the room, heedless of the other occupant of the room and heading straight toward her. Anders catches him by the arm, silently motioning to a darker corner of the room, from which a voice emanates, low and threatening.

"My little wolf. You've returned."

Danarius.

Even worse than Hawke on the table is his master- his former master- standing there, imperious and untouchable. The sight turns his stomach, it's been so long... but time has not dulled his hatred, nor done anything to soothe the wounds. Red tinges the edge of his vision as he stalks forward, sword drawn.

Danarius grins. "Have you missed me much?"

"Release her," Fenris growls, feeling more confident as his friends pour into the room behind him, armed and ready to fight. No longer is he alone. No longer is he a slave, forced to obey orders without thought.

"Or you'll what?" teases Danarius, sauntering across the wide room, dragging his fingers along the edge of the table Hawke lies upon. "That may not be wise. You don't know what could happen to her." He presses a finger into her forearm, and she contorts, jerking away and letting out a gargled scream.

Beside him, Carver flinches. "He's stalling!"

Danarius smiles, leaning against the table and turning Hawke's pale, pinched face to them, his associate having fled the scene. "Do you really want to risk it? You've come all this way to save her, the great Champion. How unfortunate it would be for her to die so quickly." He drops her face and her head falls to the table with an audible 'thunk'.

"What do you want, Danarius?" Fenris finally asks, stomach churning.

"You know what I want. Come back to me, little wolf. I let your friends go."

"What about my sister?" Carver demands.

"She and Fenris stay with me. The rest of you, as I said, escape with your lives." He shrugs, as if there's nothing he can do about it. "She and I have a contract. She willingly gave herself into my service."

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear enough," Carver restates, his blade flashing in the candle light. "Let my sister go or they'll be cleaning your insides out of the cracks in the wall for the rest of the week."

Danarius throws his head back and crows, body shaking with laughter. "You are her beloved brother! You sound so alike, the same empty threats. She's been screaming for you to save her for a while now."

_"__You cast a foul shadow on mages who would be forces for good,"_ a thundering voice sounds from behind them. Blue light overtakes the earthen red of the room. _"__You're reign of terror is finished, maleficar."_

Merrill blanches. "Oh, that's not good."

For the first time since they've stepped into the room, the look on Danarius' face changes from supercilious superiority to panic. "An abomination?" he questions, circling the table and putting his back to the wall. "You aren't the only one who communes with demons."

Danarius swipes a hand, drawing forth undead and demons from the very ground at his feet. Immediately, everyone launches into battle, swords and staffs and arrows all flying with merciless intensity. HE, Carver and Aveline, and Isabela take the front line, cutting down the more numerous weaker enemies while the others deal with the Revenant Danarius has called to fight for him.

"This was the reason for all of your blood rituals!" Primus explains, narrowly dodging the gore covered talons. Danarius doesn't bother with a response, he's too busy concentrating on trying to hit them with projectiles of varying substances.

The others yell maneuvers at each other, Justice utterly destroys droves of shades at a time, Merrill goes streaking by with several reanimated corpses chasing her, and Fenris slams into them, earning a harried thanks from her before she turns and petrifies a rage demon.

"Fenris!" Varania calls, using her staff to bash a shade in it's single, glimmering purple orb, indicating a clear path to Hawke. Without a second thought, he springs forward, only to get knocked off his feet by a blast of blood magic. Carver goes sprinting by, savaging anything that dare get in his way.

"It would have been so much easier if you had just followed orders, Fenris." Danarius speaks, as he conjures more thralls. "Your friends wouldn't have to die."

Fenris roars "No!" and slams forward, into Danarius, knocking the man off his feet. The mage is quick to strike back, hitting him with a spike of ice that shatters against his breastplate, sending him reeling.

Primus covers his opening, sending a massive bolder hurtling across the room at the mage, who dissipates into mist and reappears elsewhere. Carver has reached his sister and is hacking away at the restraints when the magister notices him, and redirects his minions to the younger Hawke. He jumps away from his sister, trying to draw their attention so that someone else can finish freeing Hawke.

_"__You will feel Justice's burn!"_ Anders booms in a voice that is not his, and throws crackling blue energy at the magister. Fenris never thought he'd see the day when he was thankful for the spirit residing in the healer.

"Stop, Fenris," orders Danarius, not seeming to fatigue as he calls forth more and more enemies. For every one they strike down, two rush forward in its place. "These people shouldn't have to die for you. You're not worth it."

"Shut your mouth!" Primus commands, landing a blow on the magister. "You've always talked too much." Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Carver launches at Danarius, plummeting to the floor as the mage vanishes in front of him, and rematerializes behind him. Before the Warden can react, Danarius has caught him in a holding spell, raising a ceremonial dagger to his throat. "I suggest you lay down your weapons if you want the boy to live."

Everyone freezes mid battle. They have little choice but to drop their weapons, as he said. The dark spirits and undead surround them

"Carver!" Merrill cries, face darkening. "Let him go!"

"One life for two: I give you the boy, and you stay, Fenris. I won't ask again. Do you really think she'd be happy about you sacrificing her brother for your freedom? She's already lost so much because of you."

"That's not happening," Varric states, entering the room with the others on his heels, soaked in blood. "Give us both Hawkes, and I won't let Fenris beat you too badly."

"Oh, I don't think so. I have the upper hand." For emphasis, Danarius grabs a handful of Carver's hair and yanks his head back, nicking his neck. A rivulet of deep red blood rolls down and over the collar of his armor. "I have so enjoyed this, but now the time for fun is over." A touch of desperation is in his voice, perhaps he is tiring-

"You're right. Party's over," a cracking voice utters from behind the magister, and before he has the chance to turn, his face freezes in shock. From behind, someone has slapped a collar around his neck. Carver breaks away, taking the knife with him.

"You bitch!" Danarius howls, trying to pull it off, despite it's lock. Fenris wastes no time stepping forward and lifting the man clear into the air, slamming him into the stone floor with so much force that he feels the impact reverberate up his arm. The thralls fall without power; the demons and shades retreat as the corpses clatter to the floor in heaps of bones.

Danarius struggles, clawing at Fenris' hands. "No! You don't want to do this!"

Fenris snorts. "I find that very hard to believe."

"I saved you!" the magister screams, haughty superiority now entirely replaced by desperate panic. "I saved you from the mediocre, the pointless existence of a peon! I made you great."

"You used me and our mother to convince him to enter your competition," Varania snarls. "You told him you would free us all!"

"I did!" Danarius shoots back. "You had the freedom you wanted, but it wasn't all you'd hoped for was it, Varania?" She slides off her hood, staring down her nose at him. "I'm disappointed at your betrayal, girl. Not surprised, but disappointed. I could have made you more."

"What competition?" questions Fenris, looking from his sister to Danarius. "What is he talking about?"

"You mean she hasn't told you how you fought for the honor of those brands? You killed for them. The blood of the hundreds you killed is mixed with that lyrium. No doubt you've made me out to be the aggressor here, but you were willing."

He looks to Varania, struck by the revelation. Even as Danarius spoke the words he could see it in his minds eye, the other competitors falling under his blade, the feel of the oppressive sun and dried blood across his face, cheering crowds and Danarius smiling, beckoning...

"It's true," she admits. "For a very long time I resented you for it. But I know you were trying to do right by mother and I."

He shakes his head, not wanting to believe it. All this time, he had thought...

"The life I gave you was better than the one you would have had without me. I saved you. You should be thanking me!" Danarius struggles. "I made you more than you are."

"He actually believes that," Varric scoffs. "Unbelievable."

"_I _made myself more," Fenris corrects. "Not you." This man does not get to lay claim to anything that he was or is.

"Don't kill me, Fenris, I command you to stop!"

He gladly disobeys this last order.

Revenge is rarely satisfying, the aftershock, anyway, but for a moment he feels something close to bliss as he picks up his former master's form and slams him into the floor again and again _and again_, until the stones glisten red and the face that has tormented him for years goes slack. He can't stop himself, he just keeps slamming him into the ground, reveling in the feeling, the sound of breaking bones, cracking vertebrae, the gargled screams for mercy that stop with the final wet smack of a bloodied skull against stone.

"-ris."

He keeps going, keeps smashing.

"-enris."

He is not a slave and he never will be again. He will die before he bends knee to another and-

"Fenris!"

He drops the corpse with a final thud and stands, dazed. Danarius is a gory mess barely recognizable.

"It's done, Fenris," Aveline speaks quietly. "He's dead."

* * *

Author's Note: GAH! This is the longest, and was the most difficult chapter to date.

I had a lot of trouble with this because I couldn't seem to kill Danarius in a way that satisfied me. To be honest, I blew him up, set him on fire, had Fenris tear out heart, had Fenris tear off his arms and beat him with them (I was getting frustrated). After much trial and error, I decided to smash him to death. I don't know about you guys but the only way I could be happy was if Danarius was a pile of mush by the end of this.

I apologize to anyone who was not satisfied by his death, please imagine him being beaten to death with his own legs. It will help assuage the pain.

Avatarfan444: AGHHH! OH MY GOODNESS WHAT A COMPLIMENT. I can die happy now:')

nekochan129: Oh! If I do a sad ending, ultimately, I'll make sure to write a happy one just for you!

Cass-The-Nerd: I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to make you sick! I mean Danarius is pretty sickening so I don't blame you. I felt pretty ill writing it as well. I hope this chapter makes you feel better!

IDRKIt'sme: I hope you didn't have to wait too long! Here it is! And I'm really sorry about the cliffhangers, I hate them too, but mine are mostly unintentional.

Tanith: I'm really interested in your story! I'd love to hear more. Only people who aren't writers yell at writers to work faster. You can't rush art! So don't feel rushed!

AmberJF: I'm laughing oh my goodness. Hawke would probably laugh too, if she could rememeber why she should be laughing:) As stated above, Fenris will never be a slave again. Unless I'm feeling really, really evil for my next story.

Knifeinthedarkness: Your review is the entire story summed up in a sentence. Or at least what I was going for.

Secret Companion: Are you happy now? :D

Up next: The fun doesn't end here! They're almost out of dodge, almost, interference is bound to occur. Will Hawke be okay? While anyone be okay (probably not lol)? Stay tuned!


	38. Chapter 38

.xxxviii.

This can't be, it can't be them. Her friends there, in front of her, and Danarius dead. It must be another trick. What is he trying to get from her? More secrets? Still trying to break her spirit? Whatever he's attempting, it won't work, she won't let it. She has to be strong. She has to end this. She can't remember why or how but she has to find a way. It's her job, it's her responsibility. She remembers that, at the very least, even if everything else it just out of reach, hazy but insistent thoughts.

The demon with white hair rises from Danarius' corpse -good riddance, if only she could have been the one to deliver the killing blow-, and turns to her, face changing from blood lust to... pity? Is that pity on it's face? How dare it look at her like that. She is not some powerless thrall, and she will not succumb to their lies. And why does he look so familiar? She feels like she should know the face, but it must be another trick. Nothing can be trusted. These things cannot be trusted, even if they did Kill Danarius.

"Hawke," the white haired demon says, approaching her, and she stumbles back, her legs not working the way she expected them to. The world tilts dangerously, and she throws out a hand to catch herself, using a pillar to keep her upright.

"Stay back, demon," she hisses, doing her best to sound threatening, but her mouth feels like it's filled with cotton, and the words come out more garbled than she had intended. She tries again, "Stay back," but it's only slightly less incomprehensible.

"Sister!" a demon in the form of a dark haired man calls her, and why does he look so familiar too? He doesn't look threatening, despite his gleaming blood covered armor and massive sword, she almost wants to trust him, maybe- NO! More illusions!

"Back," she utters again, backing away, but she's running out of floor. If they keep pursuing her, she will gave to fight him- it. She doesn't want to, she's too weak, too disoriented, and she's grasping for a clarity that doesn't seem to be there, but these demons are powerful, and they're looking at her with as much confusion as she feels. Convincing actors.

"Blessed are... blessed are.." she starts, but she can't call forth the words. Blessed are what?

"Hawke, please, we need to go," another speaks, a ginger dwarf, holding out his hand placatingly. "It's us. It's me, Varric."

Flashes, bright and blinding in her mind, she knows him, she can remember the pungent scent of ale and the worn edges of playing cards, silver and golden coins rolling across a table and laughter, racous and loud and carefree and... happy.

"Varric?" she chokes, trying to hold back tears. These monsters are truly soulless that they would tease her with the image of one of her best friends.

"Yes, it's me, the real thing."

"The real Varric is-" she falters. She can't remember why but he isn't here. He can't be here. "You're- I will not be fooled demon." She forces herself to full height, brushing her arm against the pillar, and cold fire shoots up her arm with such force it makes her stumble, crying out. The pain is the worst she's ever felt, she's sure, but when the demons surge forward again with the false pretense of aiding her she ignores and draws herself up, lifting her hands menacingly. "Leave me or I will destroy you."

_"__She thinks to fight us?" _Another demon speaks, showing his true form. Blue light crackles over the face of a blonde man, another guise to confuse her because she knows that face, even if she can't place it. _"__She has been influenced by the corrupt magister."_

"Oh, piss off, Justice," another says, in the image of a shapely woman with dark hair, "No one invited you."

_"__Prove your allegiance, Hawke. Come with us, or you are one of them and we will act accordingly."_

"Anders!" the demon with bright red hair and flashing green eyes snaps, "Get in control."

Their gambit must be to play both sides, villain and hero. Clever, but not enough. Lightning crackles in the air around her at her beckon. Most everything else is foggy, but magic is clear, every movement, every word of every spell is still strong within her mind. "I will give you a last warning. Leave, before I make you."

The blue demon plows through it's compatriots, glowing with unspent power. _"__Very well, Hawke, you've made your stance known."_

"No!" the white haired one roars, flinging himself bodily in front of the other. "Her mind has been tampered with!" The blue one shoves him out of the way and keeps making for her, magically blocking the others from approaching him.

_"__Your emotion blinds you," _he speaks as he approaches. _"__I will deal with this matter. It will be a pity to loose an ally to the cause of mages." _

"It will not be a pity to rid the world of one more of your kind," Hawke sneers, launching at him, powered by fear and rage. Immediately she can tell it must be some different kind of demon than the one she was expecting. It fights differently, with control and refined power, catching her mid charge with a spirit bolt, which she just barely shields herself from. It's attack leaves it open and she flings a volley of fireballs, sliding past it and attacking from it's exposed flank with a burst of lighting.

It betrays no weakness, just turns and continues to attack.

"Hawke, please! Don't fight him! This isn't what you think!" a demon that looks like a petite elf with wide, terrified eyes calls from beyond the magical barrier the demon has erected, trying to find a way through.

_"__Enough. I will end this," _the blue one proclaims, raising his hands. Massive clouds of fire well up on the stone ceiling above her. The other demons scream, but she can barely hear it over the pounding of her heart as the fire falls. Not thinking, just reacting, she deflects the fire into the demon, hitting him multiple times. She almost manages to miss them all, but she looks up just in time to see the biggest plummet directly at her.

Fire engulfs everything.

* * *

Author's Note: Happy Friday night everyone! I'm celebrating the weekend with a new update (I've been taking so long i'm sorry!)! Maybe I'll be able to get some work done, finally! Haha yeah...

So Hawke isn't exactly on her a game, is she? This has been a tough several months for her, though. Now the only question is: will it get better or worse from here?

MC: *broken weeping* You sweetheart! Nah, slitting his throat was way too cliched! She had to have her own, personal form of revenge, since she didn't get the honors of cutting him down. Thinking about Leto trying to find a way to protect his family keeps me awake at night. Why do these things happen:(

IDRKIt'sme: Don't worry, it's the good kind of stress! I'm glad you were satisfied! I was so worried it wan't going to be enough. Maybe I'm just bloodthirsty, but I wouldn't mind killing him again.

Knifeinthedarkness: I avoided the swiss cheese just for you! I love Anders dearly, even when he's being Justice-y. But yeah, as you can see it went from 'Justice yeah!' to "JustICE NO' pretty quick. That's just how he rolls.

nekochan: Your hatred inspires me:3

Avatarfan444: I actually had a couple suggestions for killing Danarius. A good deal of them features castration.

Secret Companion: Usually I'm 100% o 0%, black or white, angst or sunshine and rainbows, but I'll try to balance it out, even if I do two separate endings.

ElyssaCousland: So many of you guys have recommended both, I'm sort of leaning toward it!

Ah, your responses make me really happy! I'm so glad I didn't disappoint!

Next up: Is Hawke doing to be okay? Is Anders going to be okay? Is anything going to be okay? *cough cough* proabbaly not *cough* Stay tuned!


	39. Chapter 39

.xxxix.

"Hawke!" Fenris shrieks, dodging the last of the fire to reach her as the barrier Anders-Justice had created falls, along with him. He sprints past Anders, who also isn't moving, but appears to be alive. Maybe.

Hawke's face is smeared with ash and she doesn't move or respond when he scoops her off the floor into his arms, searching with his fingers on her neck for any ghost of a pulse.

"Maker, no," Sebastian utters. Anders coughs, sitting up, apparently back in control of himself. "I didn't- she isn't- is-"

"She's alive," Merrill answers breathlessly, brushing Hawke's hair back and checking her for injuries. "And mostly unharmed."

"She's tough," Carver almost laughs, looking relieved. "Anders, what in the Void was that? We didn't come all this way for you to let your passenger kill her!"

"I- I don't know. Something about this place, Justice just went mad. I couldn't control him." Carvers' grip on his sword flexes warningly. "I'm in control now!" Anders claims with a hint of irritation, "as you can plainly see. It won't happen again."

"But why?" Merrill shakes her head, "Why would he attack her? Has she truly been..." the elven girl can't even finish the sentence, paling at the thought alone.

"No." They look surprised at Fenris' definitive answer. Gingerly, he lifts her left arm, swallowing the desire to yell, or throw something, hit something. "We weren't fast enough. It's possible she doesn't even remember who we are."

Primus kneels to investigate her brands, at least they are only partial, covering her skin in evenly spaced curving lines along her forearm. "And even if she does, Danarius has toyed with her mind so much that she might think this is all an illusion. That explains much." He casts a glance at Fenris. "I am sorry."

"Is this... irreversible?" asks Anders, stepping a little closer to look. No one bothers to answer the inane quest but Varania, who gives a solemn nod.

"Anders, are you hurt?" Merrill asks, rising from Hawke's limp form and moving over to the mage, who looks mostly dazed. He shakes his head. "No, I'm fine, just, I think Justice depleted my magic." He summons wisps of spirit energy only for them to sputter out of existence in a matter of moments.

Aveline helps him up. "You're lucky he didn't do more than that."

He hangs his head. "I know."

"We really still need to get out of here," Varric reiterates, and as if to punctuate his statement, footsteps and shouts sound just down the hallway.

"Anders, take Hawke. Isabela, Varric, stay back and guard them, while giving us as much support as you can. The rest of you, with me," Aveline instructs, retrieving her sword. Fenris wants to argue, what if the spirit comes back to finish the job? It would be more than easy to crush her in his arms without a second thought, even without magic. But he trusts the Varric and Isabela won't let anything happen to her, and whoever is coming for them is coming fast. With one hand he garbs his great sword and sets it on his back, then hoists Hawke up into his arm, delicately placing her in the Anders' arms with a quick warning glance. She moans faintly, eyelashes fluttering.

Aveline readies her shield. "Here they come!"

"Typical Tuesday night," Isabela laughs at they burst into the fray.

Household guards fall on them in waves, and they have to fight through these enemies to get through the twisting corridor, however they make their push out the door. He and Aveline fight side by side, and the others provide support from behind. Every time it seems like they've gotten most of them, more appear, allowing the architecture to funnel them into waiting blades.

"This way!" Varania shouts, as an eruption of flames breaks out between them and the latest parcel of guards. She directs them down an alternate passage, which constricts upon them until they travel single file. Fenris notices Anders is careful not to let Hawke bang against the wall. She doesn't even seem to notice on the few occasions he slips up. Worrisome.

Popping out of the end one at a time into the ballroom of the estate, they find it mostly empty, only a few elven slaves occupy the room, cleaning up discarded glasses and half filled plates of hors 'douerves, starting at the heavily armed group.

"Why does this place have so many secret tunnels?" Sebastian asks, bow raised, arrow at the ready. "Not that I'm complaining about it, at the moment."

"Many reasons. Danarius enjoyed being able to sneak up on his residents, and spying on slaves. At the very least, the threat of it keeps them in line," Primus explains.

"Your master is dead," address Fenris to the slaves that stare at their procession in wide eyed wonder. "You are free. Flee while you can."

"Ava!" One of the women exclaims, dropping the plates in her hands. She hurries over to them, despite all of their weapons being trained on her. "Fenris?"

He recognizes her. She had been here when he was still a slave. The years have not been kind to her. She looks gaunt and harried. She gazes in wonder at the blood on his armor.

"You killed Master?" the others murmur in wonder, disbelief. "I'm so sorry," she says, looking at Hawke. "I didn't mean to tell him. Please. Make sure she knows I am sorry."

"Tell who what?" Carver asks, but she shakes her head. "It is too much to explain now. We must all leave. Please," she entreats him. "Please tell her I am sorry."

They don't get the chance to ask any more questions before the woman flees, the others with her.

"Can't wait to find out what that was all about," Isabela murmurs. "But we should really get moving. I think I hear our friends coming for a second try. Hah. Sods."

They keep moving, quickly and quietly across the polished marble floor, but Primus shoots the pirate a look. "You have an odd definition of 'friend'." Isabela casts Varania a look. "He's not big on sarcasm, is he?"

Varania chuckles.

As expected, more aggressors meet them in the greeting hall. However, the guards seem to have expected them from a different entrance. The mistake costs them their lives as the group descends upon with ferocity. Those guards were the only thing between them and the outside, and they burst forth into the night.

The streets are dark and good for cover, as soon as they get far away enough from the estate, which Fenris wouldn't have minded burning to the ground, had time permitted. He consistently checks over his shoulder, an eye on Hawke. She still hasn't woken up, and her head lolls back and forth with the sway of Anders' quick gait.

"We're almost there!" Merrill encourages, just as several shadowy figures step into their path.

"That is as far as you get."

"Ugh, why is it that everyone we fight seems to have unlimited allies?" sighs Varric, readying Bianca. "Please be quick with the monologue, we've got places to be."

"Gaius? What are you doing here?" Varania asks, stepping forward and holding her staff high.

Primus looks from her to them. "You know them?"

"My associates," she answers, but her tone of voice makes it clear she is skeptical of their intent. Fenris moves forward to his sister's side. These men are ready for a confrontation. "But not here to aid us, it would seem."

"Magister Danarius had suspicions about your allegiance to him, and rightly so. He hired us to ensure you were not allowed to carry out the treachery you were planning."

"Your master is dead, and you have failed your mission," Primus announces. "Step aside and let us through."

"That doesn't matter," Gaius speaks gravely, drawing his daggers. "My apologies Varania. We've been ordered to apprehend you and the slaves." He gestures to Fenris, and then to Hawke. "The rest are expendable."

They barely have time to react before the enemy praesumptor attack, daggers and swords flashing in the bright moonlight. Fenris tears into them with no restraint, ending their lives before they can so much as scream in terror. They are so close he has to protect Varania. Has to protect Hawke. The last of his family, and he will not see them fall into enemy hands, nor his friends.

Varric and Aveline take on Gauis, but his interest is not in them but Hawke. Varric attempts to herd him into Aveline's warpath, but he deftly undulates away from the oncoming bolts and through their defense, straight to Anders and Hawke. The others attempt to fend him off while Anders runs, but he doesn't engage, just keeps moving through them while his associates work to cover his advance. At the rate he's going, if he isn't stopped, he will reach the two defenseless mages.

Fenris peels off from the heart of the fight, leaving his three combatants in the loving care of Isabela (who happily announces she will be liberating them of their belongings once they are dead), and wheels around, shooting after Gaius.

"Make this easy, Varania," he calls over his shoulder, scanning the fray for her and momentarily fumbling at the sight of Fenris hot on his heels. "I don't want to turn you in. Just let us have the two lyrium warriors and-"

She appears in front of him from a shroud of blackness and heaves the weighted end of her staff into his sternum, knocking him back, as Anders sprints away from him, cradling Hawke.

Gauis rolls with the blow, landing on his feet and continuing to sprint through the fighting, attempting to relocate his target. "Or you can keep fighting. But you know which is the better of your choices." As he finishes speaking he drops a shining vial of opalescent liquid to the ground and it shatters, engulfing them in a pearly miasma.

"Poison!" Sebastian warns, immediately being overtaken by the gas with hoarse coughing. The praesumptor are protected by their masks, but everyone else is subject to its effects. Fenris tries to fight through the watering eyes and the burning in his throat and lungs, but it's too much, this is unlike anything he's ever experienced before.

"You're friends are down, Varania. Just take my offer. Hand these two over."

"It seems everyone in Minrathous is attempting to bargain their way out inevitability this evening," Fenris can hear her respond over the sound of his lungs attempting to leave his body via his mouth, as well as the chorus of coughing from all the others. "The answer is no. I'm sorry, Gaius. I counted you among my friends."

"I am too-" he starts, but stops mid sentence. Without another word, he and his associates plummet to the ground like dominoes, not so much as twitching. The smoke still burns, but it was apparently only potent for a short period of time, and already the effects have started to fade.

Varania, with a huff of approval, turns and helps him to his feet.

"Nasty stuff," Varric comments, voice breaking around the words. Isabela chuckles, which sends her coughing again.

"I know what you're thinking, Bela," Aveline comments in a gravelly voice, "and the answer is no, you cannot have some for yourself." Isabela just grins, muttering a "Says you."

"What did you do to them?" Merrill asks, prodding an unconcious praesumptor. "I've never seen a spell like that before."

"It wasn't a spell." More than that, Varania will not say. "We should not linger-"

One of the praesumptor reaches out and grasps her leg, knocking her off balance. He moves sluggishly, but he is able to lift a dagger high in the air over her.

Time slows. Fenris watches as the glimmering sliver of metal begins its descent, arching through the air. He's not close enough to stop the blow's intertia, but he moves anyway, dives for her, thrusting himself between her and her assailant. The blade connects, cuts through his leather armor with ease, sliding in between his ribs. He gasps at the feeling, but it doesn't stop him from taking hold of the attackers hand, tearing the blade out of his side, and plunging it into the black mask of the praesumptor. The body falls to the cobblestones with a limp thud.

He sways on his feet as Varania hisses "You idiot!", and presses her habd to his wound and attempting to stop the bleeding. "I could have handled that! And why would you take the blade out?! You'll bleed to death before we make it to your ship!"

"You're welcome," he huffs, attempting to push her away, but for some reason his hands don't seem to be function the way he wants them to. Shock. What timing.

"We'll have time for insults when we're clear of here," Aveline grits out, sheathing her sword and reaching out to help him stand. He staggers, but she helpfully throws the arm on his unwounded side over her shoulder.

Thankfully, they reach the docks quickly with no more interferences. He is not so optimistic to hope he has eradicated everyone that had anything to do with his former, late master, but most of them seems like an accurate estimate. Varania frets over him, bemoaning her poor knowledge of healing spells. Mostly though, she berates him.

"You always were a selfless fool," she shakes her head, using the last of their healing potions on him, but the wound is deep, and while they help to close it a little, they cannot replace the massive amount of blood he has lost. "Always worried about protecting us even when..." she doesn't finish the sentence, and he doesn't press the issue, focusing mainly on putting one foot in front of the other, and not falling off of Aveline. He doesn't say so, but he can remember, a little bit, but enough. "Well,it's good to see some things never change."  
"I am to assume, then, that you've always nagged like this?"

She looks ready to smack him, but mercifully resists. "Yes, I did, since you tired out mother so early on with your wild schemes."

"My ship!" Isabela sighs lovingly, hop skipping to reach it. "Boys! Prepare to sail! We're leaving this town on the horizon." Immediately her crew sets to work, hoisting sails and securing cargo.

"I thank you all," Primus says, stopping short of the gangplank. "Were it not for you, I'm sure I would have died enacting my plan of vengeance. I hope this puts my love at peace."

"You're... not coming with us?" Carver asks, his tone belying his incredulity. "You'll be left to deal with the fallout of this."

Merrill nods affirmatively. "They'll kill you if you stay. You're welcome to come with us-"

"I know." Primus dips his head. "But I have reasons to stay. Again, I thank you for your aid. I bid you safe travels."

Varania is suspiciously silent. Fenris looks at her pleadingly. "You're staying too, aren't you?" Her expression betrays her.

"I am. This is my place, Leto. Not Kirkwall."

"Not with me?" he counters, pushing away from Aveline and attempting to stand on his own. "You don't have to stay here. You can come with us. We can-" he knows before he speaks the words how foolish they are, but they tumble forth from his lips anyway, "we can be a family again."

She smiles, gingerly taking his hand and squeezing it. "We will always be a family. No matter where or how far apart we are. But I must stay."

He tries to force down the throat constricting sorrow he feels at her words. Just when he thought he had gained something lost...

"This will not be the last time we see each other, I promise you, Brother." With her final words, she presses something into his palm and wraps his fingers around it. "Take care."

He takes one final look at her, trying to remember his sister in the event that he doesn't see her again, out of the paranoia that has formed in his life of lost memories, but something, some gut feeling tells him he doesn't need to worry.

"I will hold you to that promise," he assures her. She just smiles.

"Goodbye."

Taking Primus with her, his sister fades away.

"Will you be alright?" Carver mumbles, gesturing vaguely in the direction Varania had disappeared. Fenris nods, refusing to commit to a verbal answer because he's really not sure. Apparently, it's enough. "Finally leaving this blighted place then," Carver sighs, flicking some gore off of his face. "Good. Let's never come back."

Everyone unanimously agrees.

* * *

Author's Note: I am so, _so _sorry this update took so long! It was not my intent, but life got in the way! And responsibilities, ugh. But here it is! With more to come! As per the wonderful suggestions I received to make alternate endings, I've been rewriting what I initially had planned in order to accommodate a choice for you guys, the readers, to make! Please be patient with me while I work out the kinks and ensure you guys get the best I have to offer!

Soon to come: How will Hawke handle waking up? Are these truly her friends, or something else, something sinister? Is she lost to her friends completely? Stay tuned!


	40. Chapter 40

.xl.

"I think she's coming to."

"Be careful. We don't know how much she knows or remembers."

"Let's hope she doesn't try to attack us again. That was unpleasant."

"In her defense, she did have a lumbering oaf of a spirit trying to "_bring her to justice_" or whatever in the hell he was on about."

She listens to the words, trying to bring her mind to understand them. Her mind is hazy like she's fallen asleep in the middle of the day and woken with no understanding of what's going on.

"She's moving, look."

The demons. She remembers. Danarius' minions. But... Danarius is dead. She saw him die. Saw the white haired demon-

She knows him, something, so close but just out of reach, something about his eyes, his movement, this demon is trying to replicate something, someone she knows. But how can it do that if she can't even remember who it's supposed to be impersonating? And there is the voices, which she is fearful of, wary wary that they speak in hushed whispers. But they haven't killed her yet, so perhaps she has mistaken them. Perhaps.

"She's awake," someone breathes in warning as she pushes herself up. Underneath her hands is something soft. A bed? She is not where she was before. The last thing she remembers is cold stone and darkness, faint red lights flickering in shadows. And terrible pain. It's dark where she is now, but it's not the same place, that much she can tell with a cursory glance. And the pain... it's not completely gone, but it's still unmistakably there. She can feel the air pressing on her arm, the pressure of the room, every small gust of wind or movement she can feel.

Gradually, she surveys the room. The people, the voices, stand in the room in a small cluster, not as many as before. The blue one that called itself Justice is gone, a strange name for a demon, and she wonders if she managed to destroy it with its own power. The white haired one is gone too, and this agitates her the most, though she can't place why. Maybe he's the leader? But... hadn't that been Danarius?

"Hawke," one of them ventures. Hawke. Her. She is Hawke. She remembers that. Her name, her title, her burden. Her father flashes in her minds eye, laughing, showing her how to hold her staff, to cast a spell, and then it is gone as quickly as it came.

"I am," she confirms, more for herself, to test the word, the name. "I am... Hawke."

"Thank the Maker she remembers that. What else do you remember?" the one from before, the dwarf, Varric.

"I remember you," she answers, seemingly to his great approval. "I remember that I owe you three sovereigns because you beat me at Wicked Grace."

He laughs aloud, drawing closer. "Always good for your debts, even when you can barely remember them."

"What about me?" Carver asks. Carver! More flashes, filling in missing pieces, blank spots in her mind. Fights when they were younger, friendship as they grew, or at least, more friendship than before. Something's... missing, but for the most part she can remember him. "Of course! You're my brother."

He looks like he might cry. "Oh. Good. Glad that's still there." She wants to hug him, make sure he's real, but she keeps herself from doing so because she's still not sure...

"And me? Can you remember me?" Brushed back hair and bright eyes, she knows him, but she can't recall it readily. "Se... Seb?"

"Sebastian Vael," he fills in, smiling kindly. "It's alright. Fenris said that you might not be able to recall everything, that your mind will take time to recover."

"That's your grandfather's bow," she states, pointing to the weapon slung across his back. "I found it on a Flint Company Mercenary. You said you would snap it in half to bring back the lowliest servant, I remember you saying that." Sebastian nods in surprise. "I did say that. But I barely remembered it myself."

"Not your name, but a conversation you two had years ago," Varric huffs. "This is going to be... interesting."

"I want to know the truth. Are you demons in disguise, or are you truly people?" Hawke ventures.

"If we really were demons do you really think we would tell you?" the gold adorned one laughs; glinting jewelry and daggers, sovereigns and lock picks strewn across a table next to a tiny ship in a bottle. Friendship tested, a terrible fight, but they endured. Isabela.

"I don't suppose so, Isabela, but it's worth a try anyway," she shrugs, and the rogue's face transforms from a small smirk to a brilliant, shocked smile. "She remembers me too!"

Rediscovering who these people are only brings more questions. "I'm- If this is real, I don't belong here. I'm supposed to be in Kirkwall. How did I get here?"

"You were kidnapped, gone for months," the red head answers; what a nice night for an evening, always where you need, there with her since the beginning, no matter her stupid choices, or foolish words; Aveline. She almost doesn't hear the answer she's so shocked by her recognition. "Aveline."

Aveline looks surprised, but pleased. "It's me Hawke. It's all us. We came after you when we found out you'd gone missing. Danarius didn't leave a lot of clues, so it was difficult to track you down."

"Damn bastard was trying to have us bring Fenris right back to him," Carver spits. "Guess that was his plan all along, to have you both. Bastard," he mutters impotently.

"Danarius," she repeats. She remembers hatred for him, but the reason is... vague. Why? He had hurt someone else but... the more she tries to puzzle it out, the hazier it seems.

"He's the one who did that to you," Isabela gestures to Hawkes arm. She lifts her arm and inspects it. White lines intertwine along her arm, reaching from the beds of her nails to her elbow. When she tentatively runs a finger along them they pulse painfully, making her gasp in shock. It feels real...

"It is really us, Hawke," Sebastian assures, gingerly kneeling in front of her and offering his hand. "We'll do whatever we can to prove it to you, but we need your help, quickly.

"Fenris has been hurt. Do you remember him yet?" Hawke shakes her head slightly, the name is slightly familiar, but still brings forth no images, no memories. "Anders depleted his mana and can't heal him, neither can Merrill. We've used all the health potions and lyrium we have. We won't make it back to safe land in time for him to be taken to a healer. You're the only one who can help him."

"No pressure," she smirks.

Varric laughs aloud. "No pressure, Hawke. You can do this. We just need you to trust us. What's the worst that could happen?"

"You could be demons and I could be damning my eternal soul."

Silence.

Varric clears his throat, trying again. "Fair enough. But before you decide, let us show him to you. Maybe you'll remember then."

* * *

To proceed to the "good ending", please advance to the next chapter.

For the "bad ending", please skip the next chapter and read 42.

* * *

Author's Note: Ah! Guys! I'm back! (Lookin at you MC, you babe, you). I apologize profusely, the last few weeks have been crazier than I expected (I went to court for the first time, got a job, and graduated high school), so I really haven't had the time to write or update. Seems like the action is starting to slow down, so I bring you more, as promised! I told you I'd see it to the end, and I meant it! And there's more to come!

This is the chapter wherein I allow the reader to make a choice between the good and bad endings, which I will be posting once they are both completed (finished with one, finishing up the other). When that's all done I'll edit this chapter to let you know where to go to read the ending of your choice.

Thank you all so much for being patient, and for sticking with me despite the radio silence. Enjoy!


	41. Chapter 41

.friends.

Hawke hesitates. If this is truly an illusion, it has been very well done, very convincing, nothing like she's ever seen before. If it isn't, then someone's life hangs on her response...

Varric offers his hand. "I know you don't completely trust us. But if you just see him, maybe you'll remember."

He's insistent, but if he's not lying it's understandable. And if a life is truly at risk... can she allow herself to stand idly by to ensure her own safety? Even if she can't remember all she was, she knows she is not the kind to stand back and let another take the fall, not if there's something she can do...

"I'll go," she assents, taking Varric's hand and accepting his help standing up. Her legs wobble beneath her, and her head feels light, like it any moment it could detach from her body and ascend through the ceiling, but she keeps a firm grip on his warm hand and moves ahead.

"Through here," Isabela directs, sashaying with ease through the narrow passageways, past ship hands who watch with silent interest. Hawke doesn't pay attention to them, just moves forward, trying to swallow her hammering heart.

"Here, with Merrill," Isabela says, taking her arm from Varric and helping her down three small stairs into what appears to be a makeshift infirmary. The only patient is being tended to by Merrill, who is twisting water out of a damp handkerchief. "Hawke!" she starts, standing quickly, almost upsetting the bucket of water beside her. "You're awake!"

"Merrill," Hawke repeats, and the word brings forth more memories, _I can handle this, you are a good friend, may the dread wolf never catch your scent _Merrill. "I remember you now."

"You do? Oh! That's wonderful!" The small elven girl quickly crosses the short distance between them and wraps her arms around Hawke. "I knew you would! But we were so worried, we were too slow and-" Merrill jumps back, minding Hawke's arm. "Elgar'nan. Does it hurt, terribly?"

"Tingles a little," Hawke shrugs, a bit of an omission, but no one seems the wiser.

"I'm glad your awake and not hurt too much and- oh! Are you here to heal Fenris, then?"

"Not until she's comfortable," Aveline reminds. "We promised her it would be on her terms."

Hawke moves past them as they talk, carefully slipping from Isabela's supportive grasp. The one she's supposed to heal, Fenris, lies in a cot, brow spotted with sweat, and face twisted with pain. White lines, lyrium, she recognizes, run from his chin to his fingertips, much like hers, but far more, as far as she can see. White hair lies sodden on the pillow beneath his head. He flinches and grasps at the light blanket covering him, lips moving faintly, though she can't catch what he's saying, and it's not a language she recognizes.

She waits for the recognition that has come with seeing the rest of them, but nothing happens.

Nothing.

"Is this him?" she asks for clarification, but it is evident that it is. Why can't she remember him? Another trick?

Carver looks at her with confusion. "You... don't recognize him?"

"I know that he is Fenris."

"But you don't _remember_ him?" Varric further asks.

What can she do but shake her head? "No. I don't."

Isabela lets out a low sigh. "That's... odd. Swelling, romantic music and a tearful reunion was more the direction I was expecting."

"I'll do it."

They look surprised as she gets down on her knees next to his cot, pushing back the sleeves of the thin under-tunic she wears. It may not be wise, but she's going to find out one way or another what the truth is. She can only hope she's making the right choice.

"You're sure, Hawke?" Varric asks. The touch of concern strengthens her determination.

Gently, she pulls away his blanket, exposing the wound. It has bandaged well, but even now he's still bleeding. His pallor shows as much, his eyes are sunken in dark hollows.

"How long has this been going on?" she asks, undoing the bandage as carefully as she can, though the ebb and flow of the craft they're on does not exactly help with a steady hand.

"We haven't exactly been keeping record," explains Aveline. "We had to get out of port before more idiots threw themselves at us, and Fenris was wounded. We focused on getting out of the immediate danger. Once that had passed, he lost consciousness."

"He wastough about it," adds Isabela. "Muttering about "Not coming this far to die at the hands of these scum" and so on."

"Hand me that bucket," Hawke directs, confident in nothing but her own skill, which still comes to her easily despite the haze around everything else in her mind. "And give me that cloth." The bandages drop to the floor and she inspects the injury. Her stomach flips when she sees it; bloody tissue surrounded by a deep yellow purple bruise. She dabs at the edges, trying to wipe the excess blood away. He flinches at the contact, gritting his teeth, but doesn't awaken.

When it's clean, she falls back on instinct: she raises her hands, her fingers hovering just a hair's breadth away. She takes a breath, and lets go. Magic swirls up out of her, floating through her skin and settling on his. It feels like taking a deep breath of fresh, cool air after holding your head under water. Immediately, the wound begins to close, faster than she had expected. Fenris gasps, back arching, fingers driving into the material of the cot, but she keeps pushing. The magic feels so strong she's almost afraid she can't control it, but before she can doubt, or begin to pull back, the bruise is fading from his skin, and not even a scar is left where the fatal tear used to be. She quickly pulls her hands back, the brands along her arm still thrumming with the use of her power.

"I've never seen you patch anyone up that fast," Carver says, his face somewhere between astonishment and pinched displeasure.

"It's the lyrium," Merrill points out. "It must be making her more powerful."

"Remind me not to piss you off, Hawke," Varric murmurs. "I'd hate to be on the receiving end of a strike of lighting more brutal than the standard fare."

They're not descending on her like rabid pack animals. That's good. The danger she had feared is not present, which means... she's safe. The realization makes the tension drop from her body. But after several quiet moments, Fenris doesn't move.

"He's not waking up," Hawke says, laying the back of her hand across his forehead. He doesn't react to her touch.

"Maybe it will just take some time..." offers Merrill, though she doesn't sound very sure of that.

"I'll stay with him. Until he wakes."

Aveline nods, and at length the others begin to go, though she lingers for a moment. "Then we'll leave you for the time being. Am I to understand that you no longer think we're demons?"

Hawke smiles at her friend. Much is still missing, but she's sure now. This is real. They're real. And she's safe now. It's such a relief she could almost cry, if she wasn't so tired. She grasps Aveline's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Yes. Sorry to mistake you. You're much prettier than a demon."

Her friend looks surprised, and then breaks into a full fledged grin. "It's good to have you back. You've no idea how you've been missed."

"No, I suppose not. But I'm sure I'll find out."

Aveline lets out a quiet bit of laughter. "You will. Keep an eye on him and call out if you need us. We'll be nearby." With that, Aveline giver her a last nod and leaves the small room on the heels of the others.

Hawke turns back to Fenris, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, much smoother than the erratic breathing from before. Fenris. Now if only she could remember him. There's no question that she knows him, there is something tugging at the back of her mind, resting on the tip of her tongue that she just can't quite grasp, but it's there.

"Fenris." She says his name, though she's not sure why. The desire to wake him up? To find out who he is and why she can remember the rest of her friends but not him?

She studies him, thick black lashes and strong jaw, bow shaped lips that still occasionally move as if he's speaking to someone. The more she watches his eyes trace patterns along the insides of their lids, the more she finds herself captivated by the way he looks. She almost jumps out of her skin when he speaks, aloud, lips forming a work she can understand.

"Hawke."

Her heart stutters a little. "I'm here, are you in pain? Do you need anything? Is your wound-"

"I'm fine," he assures, though his voice sounds weak. "You're not trying to kill me. I... appreciate that."

She laughs sheepishly. "Right. Sorry about that. I don't usually kill the people trying to save me. I think."

"You think?" His eyes move to her arm, and she feels the overwhelming urge to hide it, especially when he lunges up, straining himself, and grunting with the exertion. And he doesn't look happy. In fact, he looks completely murderous, if she's completely honest with herself, and it's both impressive for a near fatally wounded man to be so terrifying. "Your memory... is it- How much can you remember?"

Her mouth is already forming the answer when she realizes she's not entirely sure, something about Danarius? Perhaps it's better that she doesn't let him know how much she remembers, if his face is any indication of how grim the situation is.

"I don't know," she says, and it's not a complete lie. "I... didn't recognize you all, at first, I just remembered demons. Fear. Like, like I had to be on my guard, I had to fight." He stares at her unwaveringly. "At first!" she is quick to add. "I'm remembering more, now. Not everything but-"

"Like what?" He asks, and his voice is sharp, she almost starts at it. Is he always this curt? "Just, people. Things about myself. I know my name. I'm from Ferelden, but I live..." Damn. Another blank spot.

"In Kirkwall," he supplies patiently. Hawke gets the feeling that she's irritating him, something she would rather not do. "What about your family?"

She frowns. "Aside from Carver?"

"Your mother?"

Mother, streaks of graying hair and worry, love, strength, _Oh my little girl isn't so little anymore_. It's not the full picture, like she's gotten from seeing the others, but she can recall something. "Yes! She must be worried about me! She worries too much for her own health."

Fenris stares at her. "Hawke, your mother... She's gone. I'm sorry."

She blinks at him a few times, mystified. And then she forces a laugh. "Very funny. I remember when I last talked to her. She told me she was interested in being courted. She said no one would ever replace my father-" The laughter stops. He_is_ gone. But, that can't mean- not her mother too? "She isn't really dead, is she?"

He doesn't answer. Her heart drops. "Oh. What- why? What happened?"

More silence. He won't even meet her eye.

"We can save this talk for later," she announces resolutely, standing up and searching the room for fresh water, masking her fear of the answer, and partially of him. "You need something to drink, and probably something to eat as well, if you've the stomach for it. You lost a lot of blood." She pushes the thought of her mother from her mind because it makes her legs even weaker than they were before.

He probes his side with his fingers, searching for the wound. "You healed me? How...? There isn't even a scar." She lifts her arm and her sleeve falls back to reveal the dormant lyrium lining her arm. "Merrill said this probably made me more powerful." His jaw clenches, eyes roving her arm with dark intensity. She struggles to find something to say to lighten the mood. "It looks like we match! Though magic friendship tattoos seem like the kind of think you'd get done when drunk or-"

"Don't."

Her mouth snaps shut. Inwardly, she chides herself for making light of something he probably takes very seriously. Foolish to be so insensitive. Is she always this boorish? Or something born of her inability to remember this man?

Not knowing how to make the uncomfortable moment pass, she dips her head. "I should go... get you something-"

He bolts forward and takes her hand, brushing against her brands. It hurts, but they also reverberate in time with his for a moment, a strange feeling. "Don't leave." His eyes are so striking! And his voice... "I didn't mean- I wasn't," he shakes his head in frustration. "Please, don't go." Belatedly, he lets of of her hand.

What can she do but follow his request? He gingerly slides aside so she can sit on the edge of his cot, alternating between watching him and avoiding his eyes. He does much the same, staring intently when she averts her gaze, and pretending not to have been doing so when she looks.

"Do you-" he begins, just as she starts to ask "Are you sure-" and they both stop abruptly.

"Oh! I'm sorry," she smiles. "Go ahead. What did you want to say?"

"You," he frowns, "Do you... remember me?"

Ah, damn, she knew that question was coming. Briefly, she tries to find a polite way to say no.

"I'm sorry," she offers, trying to ignore the way his shoulders drop a fraction at her admission. She doesn't dare look at his face.

"I... understand."

"I _am_ sorry, but if you can, please tell me what I should know about you. We were friends, weren't we?" She immediately regrets opening her mouth because the words sound so stupid and for a moment it looks like he might say as much, but he smiles, actually smiles! And it brightens the room. "Yes. Friends, of a sort."

Finally she's said something right! "Fantastic! Well, then, I would very much like to recreate that." She offers her hand in greeting. "Hello, I'm Ava Hawke. Pleased to meet you."

His smile disappears as quickly as it came. "What did you say?"

"Hello, I'm Av-"

"No, Hawke, that isn't your name."

Her heart sinks in her chest. Just when she thought she was starting to get her mind in order. "Oh. Messing up the basics. How foolish."

"When I was... branded," he says, "I was given a new name. I didn't know what it had been before. That's the point of the process. To make you a mindless slave. When your master has all the answers, you don't look for them elsewhere. It's not your fault. Your name is Aleka Amell Hawke."

She repeats the words, the name, and it feels right, not like Ava. Where could she have possible gotten that from?

"I was close," she shrugs with a half grin, hiding her disorientation at claiming a name that was not hers. "Anything else I should know? My age? Favorite color, possibly?"

He doesn't answer her snipe. "I think it might be better to wait for a while. Remembering everything at once can be... difficult."

"I take it your speaking from experience?" An innocuous question, but he looks pained again. Every time she says something that makes him make that expression it makes her heart clench in her chest. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

"You're right," he admits. "I... can tell you more, later."

Accepting that she'll get no more out of him for the time being, and already weary of probing for answers to questions she's not sure she wants to know, she stands. "Alright then, I'll just go get you that food you needed. I hope you have an appetite for pickled eggs and salted meat because that's all's on the menu, as far as I can tell."

"I suppose I'll have to make do."

"Ah! You're the stalwart type, then! Good! Pickled eggs, with a side of pickled eggs, coming right up." She offers him a hearty smile, previous awkwardness quickly forgotten in the light of levity.

"Hawke," he calls, just as she's reaching the door, and she tries to ignore the strange fluttering she feels when he says her name. "I'm glad you're back."

"I am too, Fenris."

...

Hawke settles into her chair with an exaggerated sigh of ease, her Mabari (Galahad, she'd remembered him the minute she heard his barking and seen him bounding to her across the Docks, tongue flopping and tail wagging) curling up at her feet. Quick flashes of memory hit her, settling in on rainy days where there was nothing to be done, and shoving her cold feet under his belly while she read and he snored on the ground; playing fetch with him; getting him out of all those Maker-forbidden places he always managed to end up in... It's good to remember. Until what had happened in Tevinter, she had never realized how precious her own memories were, how priceless every piece of information she held was. Now she writes things down, keeping a record of her work, play, and thoughts. Her memory is as good as ever, but a little of the paranoia of having lost her very self lingers.

It hasn't all been pleasant, though. The pain of remembering the loss of her family, and her culpability in each one of their deaths, is something she would like to have never remembered, sometimes, but their deaths, and her responsibility, makes her work harder to protect as many people as she can.

It wasn't long after her return that she started receiving letters asking for her help in all manner of situations. It had been intimidating at first, especially with so many people demanding her assistance, and so many others demanding that she stay home to recuperate (surprisingly, Orana had been the most adamant about her staying put, the elven waif had threatened to physically restrain her if need be), but in time she fell back into the flow of work, of being the Champion, of helping people. It was her, and she fell back into her role, her responsibility with ease. It was good to have something to return to, a defined place, a purpose, something to keep her from wavering in uncertainty.

After only a few weeks back in the city, it almost felt as if she had never left. Patrolling with Aveline, spending time re-memorizing stanzas of the Chant with Sebastian, drinking with Varric and Isabela, practicing spells with Merrill, and even secretly helping Anders escort runaway mages out of the city, it all seemed to fall back into place, as if the last few months had never happened. The only lasting marks were the ones on her arm, and the ones in her mind.

Nearly all of it. Even after this much time, learning everything she could about her life, about what had happened while she was serving Danarius, there is still one memory she can't bring forth...

"Lost in thought?" someone asks from the doorway, and she nearly jumps out of her chair.

"Fenris! Are you in the habit of sneaking up on people?" She feigns irritation but he obviously knows better than to take that seriously.

"You once accused me of hiding in your houseplants," he smirks, striding across the room and taking a seat in a chair near hers. In his hands he holds a book, faded and dog-eared. When he catches her looking, he holds it up for her inspection, and she takes it, looking over the cover and pages. It's almost as if she's seen this book before...

"Do you remember that?"

"I might," she says, squinting at the title. "'The Life of Shartan'? Andraste's Shartan? This sounds interesting. Did I like it?"

"You gave it to me," he says, flipping over the front cover and pointing out an inscription done in looping hand. "_'To Fenris, You are meant for great things'._ Did I really write that? Sounds a little mushy to me."

He laughs, taking the book back from her. "You did. And you taught me how to read it as well."

She still feels guilty that she cannot remember him, or anything having to do with him. And worse yet, the more time she spends with him, the more she wants to remember, the more she wants to know everything she can about him. There is something special about him, something singular, more than the shared bond they have over missing pieces of a life, and the daily struggle of dealing with the lyrium brands they both carry.

"Did I? You must have been in dire straits to have asked me to teach you. I taught Bethany and Carver their letters when they were young. That's the extent of my experience."

"You did a good job," assures Fenris, setting the book down. "I had hoped it might spark something." Subtle disappointment flits across his usually stoic face. He is hard to read, but she knows the knitting of brows and slight stoop of shoulders well, whether in him or others, she can't tell. What she can tell is that she hates to see him react in such a way.

"It does! Does... spark... uh, something. Ah..." she fumbles for a convincing memory. "I thought for sure I saw it before when you showed it to me!"

He smiles grimly. "It's... something."

She resists the urge to defenestrate the nearest table. Or herself.

"It will come back," she says, "I'll remember you. I don't know why I can't, right now. But I want to. I will."

A slight nod. He draws a metal fingertip around the edge of his book. "The desire to know isn't enough to bring everything back. For a long time I wanted to know, but I couldn't."

"You did, though, didn't you? You remembered? What happened? Was it going back to Tevinter?"

For a moment, Hawke doesn't believe her eyes what she sees happen is so incomprehensible, but Fenris turns his head stifles a cough, a false pretense to hide the scarlet blush spreading across his cheeks. "No, not quite."

His abashed, vague answer piques her curiosity. "Oh? What was it, then?"

He looks like he's debating bolting from the room. "It was you who... helped me remember much of what I had lost. I," he frowns, "it was difficult, after all that time. I was less than kind to you."

"Not ringing any bells," she shrugs, leaning forward and setting her elbows on her knees. "Tell me about it?" Almost immediately, he goes from scarlet to blanched.

"I- that's not-" jerkily, he stands, pacing to the fireside, fingers flexing nervously at his sides, though he keeps his face emotionless. "Perhaps it is better that you do not remember."

"I think I should be the judge of what I do and do not remember." she says, standing and walking over to him, frustrated by his caginess. What could be so bad that he would refuse to tell her? He isn't the type to pull punches. "Tell me, Fenris. I need to know. It certainly can't be as bad as you're making it out to be." Hoping to make him relax, she smiles brightly at him.

His look makes it obvious he thinks differently, but he speaks anyway. "We were-" the tendons in his neck move as he works out the words. "We were together."

Oh.

"Oh," she dumbly murmurs, unable to think of anything else to say. "Oh." Part of her is delighted. She had hoped, suspected, and basked in every half a moment longer than normal glances he spared her, but... were? Past tense? Risking a glance at his face, her heart clenches as she wonders if he perhaps regrets it. Maybe that's why he hadn't wanted to remind her.

"As I said, I was less than kind. We, there was," it seems like he doesn't know quite how to quantify it, "I ran. I couldn't..." In a detached sort of way, Hawke finds it a little ironically funny that a man so talented with words can't seem to draw together more than three or four, though she doesn't do much better, mumbling, "Oh."

"It's in the past now, I will leave you to-"

"Don't! You don't have to leave."

He looks at her curiously, like she's just said something she shouldn't. Then he sighs, shaking his head. "Would you believe that isn't the first time you've said that to me?"

"Well, I must have meant it then, and I mean it now. Don't go, please. I'm sorry if I did something to push you, or force you, before-"

"It wasn't that, Hawke."

"Then why?" She can't be the only one that feels it. The pull between them, the insatiable desire to be around him...

He sighs, sounding more frustrated, as opposed to his previous weariness, and presses a palm to his forehead. "We never spoke of it. I assumed you preferred pretending that it didn't happen. So I didn't say anything. But..." he finally meets her eyes. "That isn't what I wanted."

"What is it that you want?" Hawke asks, coming closer, The edges of her vision get blurrier the more she focuses on him.

In answer, he lifts a hand and runs his fingers down the side of her face, her neck, her arm. "Hawke."

Part of her mind tells her to stop. What if she pushes him away again? She can't remember what happened last time, any of it, but the thought of not being close to him is frightening, to say the least. But her fear is lost on the roaring in her ears. He's so close, lips slightly parted, and the feeling of his hand resting on the curve of her waist is too much to ignore.

"I want to remember you," she whispers.

He kisses her like she's glass; gently, pressing his lips to hers slowly, maddeningly restrained. And when she kisses back, hard, hungry, he gives as good as he gets, backing her up against the wall beside the heart and holding her like she'll disappear if he takes his hands off her.

She holds on too, like a drowning woman- this is what she's been missing. This is the piece that's been eluding her for so long, him. The warmth of his skin and his breath on her neck.

Time slows. Suddenly, she's aware of everything- the crackling flames to her side, Galahad's steady snore, faint movement outside the door. For a moment she stops confused. Why-?

And the memories come crashing down.

Possessive hands wrapped around her throat, _"__My little bird."_ Pain, fury, desperation.

She jerks away, viscerally trying to escape the feelings, but they don't stop, the burning images flash in her eyes.

_"__You are the only other person I have ever considered a friend."_

So fast, it all comes so fast. Dimly, she's aware of someone calling her. She tries to answer, tries to call for help, but she's paralyzed by the onslaught.

_"__You won't even remember you made that promise."_

Hawke upends a side table on her way down to the floor. Fenris' voice pushes through the deafening haze of voices and pictures, and they cede for a moment allowing her to speak, "Fenris, I-"

Another wave of memory. She fights through it with gritted teeth.

"Hawke! Hawke! I'll get Anders-"

"No," she rasps, grasping for him, for an anchor. "Don't. I'm fi-"

_"__Command me to leave and I will go."_

Her head feels like it might burst. And then all it once, it stops. The world stops spinning, the past ceases to assault her, though the voices still reverberate in her mind. The images... Danarius.

Praise the Maker he's dead.

"Hawke?" Fenris asks, kneeling beside her, supporting her in the awkward position she has fallen into. Her fingers are clasped around his upper arm, knuckles white. Immediately she lets go, afraid of hurting him.

"That was exciting," she jokes, trying not to wince at the throbbing in her head. "It all came back. Everything I was missing, I think."

"I'm sorry. I should have warned you. My assumption is, the longer it takes to recall, the harder it is to do. I shouldn't have come."

"Fenris," she says with exasperation, earning herself a faint look of surprise, especially when she takes his hand. "Thank you. If it hadn't been for you..." she can't force herself to be serious, it's too heavy. "I wouldn't remember that time I accidentally set Carver's hair on fire. Now that's a precious memory."

He actually smiles. She can tell him what she really remembers later. Later when she's strong enough to speak it.

Fenris helps her to her feet, and Galahad wuffles at her knees worriedly. "I'm fine boy," she assures him. She assures Bodahn and Orana too when they come running as well, having heard the commotion. They seem to reluctant to believe her assertions that she's alright, but eventually they assent to leave her be.

"Are you sure you don't need the healer?" Fenris asks again, when she's reoriented herself and things have calmed down.

"No, thank you. Leave him be. He needs his rest. And I'll be fine after a bottle of... something." Absently, she traces her the skin around her lyrium brands.

"If you want to be alone, I understand."

"You had better not," she says, wagging a finger at him. "I've been waiting a long time for you. Don't make me wait any longer."

He doesn't. Galahad leaves the room, huffing indignantly as they fall into each others arms, clothes falling to the floor.

"I love you Fenris," she whispers into his neck, so quietly she's not sure he's heard. Panic. Was that the wrong thing to say?

"I am yours, Hawke."


	42. Chapter 42

.demons.

Hawke hesitates. If this is truly an illusion, it has been very well done, very convincing, nothing like she's ever seen before. But it's still possible. Very possible.

Varric offers his hand. "I know you don't completely trust us. But if you just see him, maybe you'll remember."

He's insistent, but if he's not lying it's understandable. But the vague recollection, the missing pieces... she doesn't trust this. Doesn't trust them. It's wrong. All wrong.

"I'll go," she assents, hoping her lie is not obvious. She must play along until she can find some way to escape. With her life, if she's lucky.

"Through here," Isabela directs, sashaying with ease through the narrow passageways, past ship hands who watch with silent interest. Hawke doesn't pay attention to them, just moves forward, trying to swallow her hammering heart.

"Here, with Merrill," Isabela says, taking her arm from Varric and helping her down three small stairs into what appears to be a makeshift infirmary. The only patient is being tended to by Merrill, who is twisting water out of a damp handkerchief. "Hawke!" she starts, standing quickly, almost upsetting the bucket of water beside her. "You're awake!"

"Merrill," Hawke repeats, and the word brings forth more memories, _I can handle this, you are a good friend, may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent _Merrill. "I remember you."

"You do? Oh! That's wonderful!" The small elven girl quickly crosses the short distance between them and wraps her arms around Hawke. "I knew you would! But we were so worried, we were too slow and-" Merrill jumps back, minding Hawke's arm. "Elgar'nan. Does it hurt, terribly?"

"I'm fine," Hawke grits, disconcerted at the physical contact.

"I'm just glad your awake and not hurt too much and- oh! Are you here to heal Fenris, then?"

"Not until she's comfortable," Aveline reminds. "We promised her it would be on her terms."

Hawke moves forward carefully, trying not to make it obvious how she watches them out of the sides of her eyes. The one she's supposed to heal, Fenris, lies in a cot, brow spotted with sweat, and face twisted with pain. White lines, lyrium, she recognizes, run from his chin to his fingertips, much like hers, but far more, as far as she can see. White hair lies sodden on the pillow beneath his head. He flinches and grasps at the light blanket covering him, lips moving faintly, though she can't catch what he's saying, and it doesn't sound like any language she recognizes.

She waits for the recognition that has come with seeing the rest of them, but nothing happens.

Nothing.

Strange. She had faint recollections of all the others, but... him? He's like the space on a mantle uncovered by dust, indicating something had once been there, for a long time, but not anymore...

"Is this him?" she asks for clarification, but it is evident that it is. Why can't she remember this one? Another trick to throw her off? Her suspicion grows more with each passing moment.

Carver looks at her with confusion. "You... don't recognize him?"

"I know that he is Fenris."

"But you don't _remember_ him?" Varric further asks.

What can she do but shake her head? "No. I don't."

Isabela lets out a low sigh. "That's... odd. Swelling, romantic music and a tearful reunion was more the direction I was expecting."

"Why?" Hawke asks.

"He was- you know," Merrill says.

"You love him," states Carver, with irritation, like he's tiring of the act.

Of course. They would tempt her with her beloved. She kneels at his side. He is beautiful, she can't deny that. Fortunately, it seems her memory has left her at the appropriate time. She's not sure she could do what she's about to if she remembered him.

But he is a lie.

She presses a hand to his chest, and the few whispered snippets of conversation cease as they watch her intently.

"Fenris." Something makes her say his name. Maybe for the last time. Whoever he truly is, he seems the kind of person she would want to know. They all do. Maybe she'll get out of this alive, and see the truth of these illusions.

But that doesn't seem like a very strong possibility.

"With grim determination, she sets her jaw and electrocutes his heart. It's quick. There is no place for compassion for a demon, but she doesn't draw it out, part of her balks at the thought of making him-it-suffer. His jaw clenches. His eyes open for a moment, roving blindly, and then settling on her face. He blinks once, twice. Looks at her. His eyes...

And then they close.

It takes several moments of disbelief for the others to realize what she's done to their compatriot, but she's already rising and preparing to attack.

"Hawke," Merrill stutters, rushing to Fenris' side, but he's not moving, not breathing. "What did you do?"

"Release me and we all walk away from this. Attack me, and we all die." To prove her point, ice and lightning crackle and swirl around her hands.

"Maker, sister, no! What have you done?" Carver demands, looking from Fenris and Merrill to her. "Did you kill him?"

"Yes, and I will not hesitate to kill you either, demon, even if you do wear my brother's face."

"He's dead," Merrill says, voice breaking. "Hawke, why?"

"Don't you dare!" Hawke sneers, flinging the Dalish girl into a wall, hard. She crumples upon impact, sliding limply to the floor.

"NO!" Carver yells, leaping to her defense. He's not as easy to incapacitate, and he manages to swing a fist at her before she freezes him to the floor and shoots a spike of ice through his chest.

"Hawke, no!" Isabela yells, voice hoarse and terrified. "Stop!" She and Sebastian try to stop her, rushing forward, but they made the mistake of giving her this lyrium. She is far more powerful, far more deadly. They are far easier to fell; she breaks the archer's neck with a sickeningly audible crack, and drives one of the other rogue's daggers into her ribs.

"Stop!" Aveline more pleads than demands. She is moments from immolating the approaching woman when someone grabs her arms, restraining her. The pain of fingers pressing into the lyrium makes her scream.

"Hawke, it's us! Please stop!" Merrill cries, tears mixing with streaming blood as they stream down her wan face.

"I will not succumb to demons," Hawke repeats, but it's getting harder and harder to resist. It hurt to kill the others, they seemed so real... but they're not. This is all calculated to fool her and she can't let it work. For their sakes, the real ones, for her own.

"You found my father's caste ring at some stall in Kirkwall," Varric yells to get her attention. "What did it look like?"

She falters, the question seems so strange. "I don't-"

"Like this!" he yells, holding up his hand. A clearly Dwarven ring adorns his middle finger. "You can't be imagining this and we can't be demons using your memory because you don't even remember!"

No.

That can't be true.

Merrill sobs behind her, and Anders comes streaking into the room. "What's going on-" his words fall short when he sees the bodies. "Oh no."

"You're not..." Hawke mumbles, looking at her hands. The hands she just used to kill her friends? No, that can't be right, that can't be-

"I told you she wasn't ready! I told you this would happen!" Anders rails, running to each of the felled. Isabela moans, but the others are undoubtedly dead.

"We didn't have a choice," Isabela chokes, clutching at her wound as Anders frantically tends to it. "Fenris is- Fenris was dying. You couldn't do anything."

"And now she's killed him! And her brother! And Sebastian!"

Merrill whimpers, drawing away from the eldest Hawke to the youngest, and cradling his limp head in her hands. "Ma vhenan..."

The reality of the situation comes crashing down. These weren't demons. These were people. Worse yet, her friends. "I didn't..." With dreadful dawning horror, she looks at the dead face of the elf in the cot. At Fenris. The man she supposedly loved. She'd killed him in cold blood.

"Maker," she breathes, dropping to her knees beside him, "I'm so sorry, I thought- I thought this-" He is far beyond hearing her worthless apologies. They all are.

…

Sebastian, Carver, and Fenris all receive a burial at sea. Hawke watches from the brig as their bodies plummet over the side of the ship, into the water, sinking, sinking. Part of her sinks with them. In her hands she twists a piece of fabric, vibrantly red in the darkness of the brig, holding onto the favor for dear life. As if life is dear anymore. Surprisingly it had been Anders who had brought it to her. He hadn't said a word, just handed her the cloth, downward cast eyes disturbingly blank. "He would have wanted you to have this."

She spends the nights weeping as she remembers.

When they return to Kirkwall, Aveline turns Hawke over to the Circle. She knows they don't tell Anders, no matter what he felt about her crimes, he would never allow that. But she doesn't fight it. Perhaps they were right all along. Magic is evil. Meredith is all to happy to order the Rite of Tranquility. She had expected death, had hoped for it, even though she knew she didn't deserve the peace of the grave. At least when she was made Tranquil, she would no longer see their faces when she closed her eyes. The memories wouldn't come back to her in dreams, dreams that felt so real. She wouldn't dream of their last moments, her betrayal. She wouldn't remember snippets of conversations with Sebastian, how he reacted to her playful jibes with stammering embarrassment. Or her brother, their childhood, their lives spent together, his lopsided smiles and fierce loyalty. Or Fenris, and his voice, his eyes, him. And if she did, at least it wouldn't hurt. Sometimes she wanted to remember them. Sometimes she would get so lost in the dark fog of her own mind she would almost forget they were gone.

On the evening before the Rite, Cullen, Samson, and Kerran steal to her tiny cell and begin to unlock the doors, furtively striving to get her out.

"Leave me."

"You're daft," frowns Samson. She remembers him, remembers them all, but something about his voice specifically makes her heart jump in her chest.

"Serah Hawke," Cullen says quickly, still working with the manacles on her wrists. "You have done much for us individually, as well as our order."

Kerran adds, "We can't let Meredith do this to you."

"You can, and you will," she says coldly. Not unkindly, but as a fact. She is not leaving. She deserves this for what she's done, no matter her intent.

Cullen stops working at her chains to look her dead in the eye. "Meredith has been been waiting for the chance to take you out of the picture. Don't let her do this. Kirkwall needs you. Your friends need you."

"I killed my friends."

She looks away.

"There's no need for the Rite, she's already Tranquil." Samson whispers, though his voice is not accusatory.

"Leave me!" she hisses again, biting back tears. She will not cry in front of them. She doesn't deserve their pity.

"It's now or never," Kerran says, glancing over his shoulder at some far off noise.

"You should go. Thank you anyway. I know you meant well."

There isn't much more they can say. With a final, remorseful goodbye, they sneak off in the opposite direction, eluding detection.

She ties the red cloth around her wrist as the sun rises. She prays to the Maker for forgiveness, but wonders if there is any for her. Finally, she stands as the guards approach, bringing her to the courtyard. It's time.

It's crowded. Many have come to see the fall of the once Champion of Kirkwall. Some look gleeful. Others look grieved. Excited chatter abounds, falling quiet when she enters the courtyard, head held high to meet her fate.

Aveline is there. She meets her friend's eyes for a moment, before the boring glare makes her turn away. Varric is there too. No sight of Isabela, or Merrill. Probably for the better.

"Hawke." Meredith addresses her quietly, and then raising her voice, she adds, "You have been accused of murder. Your sentence is the Rite of Tranquility." She holds out a hand for the brand, and someone hands it to her, bright, red hot, burning against the warm pink of the sunrise sky behind her. "Do you have any final words?"

What more is there that she could say? She shakes her head.

Meredith lines the brand with her brow.

She cries as the sun bursts behind her eyes, silhouettes of familiar forms in the bright light.

It doesn't hurt any more.


End file.
